


In a Dark Alley

by impalagirl, wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [48]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Sexuality Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalagirl/pseuds/impalagirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Steve shakes his head slightly. "You don't have to try to make me feel better, Buck," he says, kicking idly at a pebble on the sidewalk. "I know what the girls all think of me, and - " Steve comes to an abrupt halt, blinking rapidly. He'd been watching the path of the pebble, and it had skittered into an alleyway.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>An occupied alleyway.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Occupied by two men who are in a very intimate - and very dangerous - embrace.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Bucky ambles to a stop beside Steve, follows his gaze curiously - and freezes. "<i>Jesus</i>," he breathes.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Dark Alley

Steve huffs, setting his sketchbook aside as the beat-up old clock he and Bucky had fixed as kids chimes happily at him from the end table. "Buck!" he calls, aiming his words towards the bedroom. "Hurry up, I need to get ready, too, if you're going to insist on dragging me out again."

Half a heartbeat later Bucky kicks the bedroom door open, revealing just how close to ready he is; he's wearing slacks, at least, and he's clean shaven, but he's still in his vest, his fingers thick with grease. "Aw hell, Steve, all you gotta do is roll out of bed and your hair's doing that perfect swoop thing," he complains. "You know mine needs work!"

Steve rolls his eyes, getting to his feet and moving to the bedroom, pushing Bucky back into it. "Sit down," he orders, pointing at Bucky's bed. "Gimme your hands; don't want to waste any of that."

Bucky does as he's told, holding out his hands so that Steve can wipe the grease off with his own. "You're so good to me," he coos.

"I may waste some of this poking you in the eye," Steve says mildly. "See how much Eliza likes you when your eye is red and swollen."

"I wouldn't complain," Bucky insists. "Give me a night off, and then you'd have _two_ lovely dames on your arm!"

"No," Steve corrects as he starts working on Bucky's hair, "I'd be left in the bar by myself while the dames found someone else to dance with. You know that the only reason they even put up with me is to get a night with you."

"That's not true, Steve," Bucky insists. "And if it is, they don't deserve you anyway, I swear it."

Steve sighs. "I appreciate the sentiment," he says, putting the finishing touches on Bucky's hair. "Now finish getting dressed; we don't want to make a bad impression by being late."

Bucky laughs and gets to his feet. "Yes sir."

* * *

The date goes about as well as Steve predicted; Bucky's girl adores him, but Steve looks so crushed when the girl meant for him turns onto Bucky as well that for once Bucky spurns both their advances and opts to go home with Steve instead. "They were boring anyway," he tells Steve as they walk back toward their apartment. Bucky's shirt is halfway unbuttoned now, the sleeves of his jacket rolled up to his elbows, but Steve still looks as put-together as always. "Full of themselves. Y'know? Thought they had us exactly where they wanted us. Well, that shows them, doesn't it?"

Steve shakes his head slightly. "You don't have to try to make me feel better, Buck," he says, kicking idly at a pebble on the sidewalk. "I know what the girls all think of me, and - " Steve comes to an abrupt halt, blinking rapidly. He'd been watching the path of the pebble, and it had skittered into an alleyway.

An occupied alleyway.

Occupied by two men who are in a very intimate - and very dangerous - embrace.

Bucky ambles to a stop beside Steve, follows his gaze curiously - and freezes. " _Jesus_ ," he breathes.

Steve doesn't say anything; his body is saying enough for him, and he's suddenly glad for the slightly-too-big trousers as he forces himself to look away, thinking of anything to calm himself down. He can feel his cheeks and the back of his neck growing hot, and he knows he has to be glowing like a Christmas light. This kind of thing, what they're witnessing - it's illegal, and if these men were caught, if Steve and Bucky turned them in... "C'mon," he mutters, grabbing Bucky by the arm. "Let's get out of here; we don't want to be around if they get caught by the police."

Bucky doesn't take his eyes off the other men until he has to, and only then does he think to yank his arm out of Steve's grasp and put a good few inches of space between them as they continue to walk. Neither of them say a word until they get back to the apartment.

Steve blows out a hard breath, not looking at Bucky as the two of them take off their jackets and hang them up neatly by the door. The silence lasts until they've moved into the living room, and then Steve says, "I think I'm gonna go to bed. Been a long day."

That has Bucky looking sharply at Steve, all awkwardness momentarily forgotten. It's barely nine o'clock. "You feelin' okay?" he demands.

"I'm fine, Buck," Steve says without looking at the other man. "Just tired, is all."

"All right," Bucky says. "Make sure you wake me if you need me, though."

"I will," Steve says, already heading for the bedroom. "Good night."

* * *

Steve doesn't wake Bucky in the night, and he's sleeping peacefully when Bucky leaves for work before dawn the next morning. Still, he looks tired when Bucky returns that night, so he sets about cobbling a meal together for the two of them to share. They don't talk while he cooks, though Steve does move into the kitchen to draw at the dining table, and though Bucky is sure that he could slice the tension between them with the knife in his hand if he wanted to, he can only guess at what's causing it - at least until Steve starts to speak while they're eating.

"Do you think it's wrong?"

Bucky sets his fork down, but doesn't look up at Steve. "What?"

"Last night, the - the guys we saw. Do you think it's wrong?"

Bucky sighs. "It's illegal."

"I know what the law says," Steve says, irritated. "I'm asking what you think about it."

"Why?"

Steve shrugs. "I'm curious. You know how I get."

Bucky looks up at Steve then, his eyes sharp. "What is it you're really asking me?"

"Do I have to have some ulterior motive?" Steve demands, exasperated. "Jesus, Buck, it's not like I'm gonna go rat you out to the police if you say something I don't agree with."

Bucky turns his attention back to his meal. "Well, you don't have to worry about that," he says tightly. "I'm not a queer, Steve. Those guys we saw were disgusting."

Steve manages to ignore the clenching of his heart in his chest. "There, was that so hard?" he asks lightly. "Thanks for answering the question."

"No problem." Bucky waits a beat and then adds, "I think I'll go out tonight."

"All right," Steve says, concentrating on his meal. "I'm gonna stay in, if you don't mind."

"Fine by me."

* * *

Bucky doesn't come to this place often - has only been twice, in fact, and last time he got spooked enough that he vowed never to come again - but there's been an itch under his skin since last night, an itch that grew to a burn under Steve's scrutiny until he just couldn't stay away. It's a dark and dingy room, hardly what you could call a club, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in the air, but people don't come here for the scenery or the atmosphere. There's all kinds here: men dressed as women; girls kissing other girls; boys... Boys like Bucky.

No one catches his eye immediately, but he knows it's only a matter of time; all he needs to do is loosen up a little and he'll be able to survey the crowd with more realistic standards. He heads to the bar and orders a whiskey sour, sips it leisurely while he watches a young woman slide a hand up another woman's skirt. The way they're whispering to each other tells Bucky that they're a couple rather than just a random one-nighter, and he makes a mental note to talk to them if the opportunity arises. In the world they live in, you can never have too many friends who need a cover just as much as you do.

But not right now. Right now, all Bucky wants to do is enjoy his drink and try not to wish he was still back at home with Steve.

Tim's seen this guy before, and he's also seen the type: Longing. Tim doesn't know the guy's name, although he looks familiar; he's probably passed him on the street a hundred times. Still, if he's longing, maybe Tim can fill in for whoever this guy wants, at least long enough to get them both off. He orders himself another drink and saunters over. "So," he says, dropping into the empty seat next to him, "you're not a cop, are you?" 

Bucky snorts, doesn't look away from the crowd. "Trust me, pal, I'm the furthest thing."

"Well that's good," Tim says, taking a sip of his drink. "So, I think I know you." 

Bucky goes rigid. " _What_."

"Yeah," Tim continues blithely, though he's watching the other man from the corner of his eye. "No one in your - _real_ life knows about you and what you like, and you're completely gone on someone. Your best friend, maybe; happens often enough. Your type is pretty common around here." 

Bucky relaxes, but only slightly. "What's it to you?" he asks.

Tim shrugs. "I'm here for the same reason everyone else is: to be able to be myself for a night without worrying too much, and maybe get off with a handsome stranger." 

"And let me guess," Bucky says. "Tonight I'm that stranger."

Tim turns in his seat to regard the other man thoughtfully. "If you want to be," he says. "I mean, if you _don't_ want to get rid of some of that tension crawling under your skin, that's fine, too. I'll go find someone else to have some fun with."

Bucky finally turns to look at the other man, irritated by his arrogance and fully prepared to give him the dressing-down of his life, but as soon as he sees him he forgets his annoyance. The guy is small and slight, in this light almost frail-looking despite his big mouth, and that's where the similarity ends but it's enough to get Bucky interested. He smiles. "I'm John," he says.

"Daniel," Tim says; it's the same pseudonym he always uses. In this town, there's no such thing as being too careful, no matter whose company you're in.

Bucky smiles. "Well," he says, "this seems to be pretty routine for you. Tell me, what happens next?"

"Well, we don't usually put much stock in courting here," Tim teases. "You find a partner who wants the same thing you do, and then you go find a quiet corner, maybe a room, if one of the back ones is free."

Bucky downs the rest of his drink and slaps some money down onto the bartop. "Then lead the way."

* * *

Steve has no idea what time it is when Bucky stumbles - literally - through the door. "Buck?" he calls, voice rough with sleep as he slips out of bed. "Jesus, Buck - you smell like you drank a whole bar."

Bucky laughs, deep and carefree. "Feel like I did," he agrees. "There's two o' ya, oh my god."

Steve's nose wrinkles. "You smell like sex," he says bluntly, and then sighs. "Go get washed up, Buck; the basin ain't gonna be enough this time. You need an actual bath."

"You want me to drown?" Bucky asks, still laughing. "I can barely stand up right now, Steve."

Steve sighs. "Fine. Turn around, head to the washroom," he says. "I'll grab some rags and the soap."

Bucky sobers almost instantly. "No," he says. "No, it's okay, Steve. I can handle myself."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "I'm at least going to stand outside the door," he counters. "You're drunker than a skunk, Bucky."

"You know many drunk skunks, do you?" Bucky asks, but he turns and leaves the room anyway, staggers down the hallway to the bathroom they share with their neighbours. When he looks back and sees Steve at his elbow, he scowls. "Oh my god, go back to bed. It's cold out here; you'll catch your death."

"And let you drown?" Steve snorts. "Shut up and get in the bath, Bucky."

"I'm not gonna drown," Bucky insists. "I'm drunk, I'm not paralytic. Don't need you mother hennin' me all the time."

Steve rolls his eyes and gives Bucky a shove. "I know better than to trust anything that comes out of your mouth while drunk," he retorts. "Get your ass in there, Barnes. I'm not letting you into the apartment until you no longer smell like a barrel of wine someone jerked off in."

"You're such an asshole," Bucky complains, but he lets Steve push him into the bathroom, and shuts the door between them before he can think to follow.

* * *

Bucky sleeps off his drunken stupor and Steve sleeps off his annoyance, and by the time morning comes they're mostly back to normal. It's Sunday, but Bucky forgoes their usual walk to the local church in favour of staying at home to nurse his hangover; he has lunch ready when Steve comes back, and Steve is kind enough to talk softly while they eat.

He's feeling a lot better by the time evening rolls around. They're both in the sitting room, the radio playing idly in the background while Steve sketches and Bucky reads the paper. The light's always been better in the kitchen, but both of them like the soft glow of the lamp in here; Steve says the shadows it casts always make for more interesting drawings, even if he's not drawing anything that's actually in the room.

"Hey," Bucky says, breaking the comfortable silence between them without looking up from his newspaper. "You feel like catchin' a picture?"

Steve glances up from his sketchbook; he's almost finished a sketch of Bucky sitting in their ratty armchair, newspaper flicked open in his hands. A glance at the clock shows that they'd have time to catch a movie, if they left in the next few minutes. "Think you can get ready in time?" he asks in lieu of an answer, a teasing lilt to his words; testing the waters, seeing if they're really back to normal. 

Bucky grins. "You've seen me crawling on the floor after throwing up the contents of three bars, not a toothbrush in sight," he points out. "If you can still stand the sight of me after that, I don't gotta dress up all pretty for you just to take you to the movies."

Steve rolls his eyes. "If you're going out in public - especially if you're going to a movie - you should make an effort to look nice," he shoots back.

Bucky sighs. "Fine," he says, "fine! I'll look nice." He gets up and hands Steve the paper without so much as glancing at the sketchbook. "Decide what you wanna see, I'll be out in five."

Steve watches Bucky go with a raised eyebrow; something about him still seemed... off, for lack of a better word, but for once Steve didn't want to push it. Things were still tenuous from the night before, and Steve doesn't want to rock their boat any more than he's already done. With a sigh, Steve closes his sketchbook, sliding it onto the table beside him as he begins to peruse the movie times.

* * *

The movie is good, although Steve barely pays attention to it; his attention is more caught by Bucky, trying to figure out what is going on with him. It's nothing big, nothing obvious to someone who doesn't know Bucky well, but Steve isn't one of those people; he _does_ know Bucky well, and he knows that something is bothering Bucky, and for whatever reason, Bucky doesn't want to tell him about it. Steve tries not to let that get to him; but he's still hurt by Buck's reluctance to confide in him.

Steve's listening with half his attention as he and Bucky walk home; Bucky's talking about the movie, enthusing over some plot point or other. He's not paying much attention to anything other than his own thoughts, so he doesn't notice the men walking their way until one's already bumped into him. "Hey, watch it," the largest growls, giving Steve another shove for good measure.

Bucky's there in an instant, getting right up in the guy's face and pushing him away from Steve. "You wanna back off, pal."

Steve reacts almost as quickly; he grabs Bucky's arm, pulling slightly. "Buck, I know I don't usually say this, but let it go. Let's just go home." 

"You're kidding, right? Someone needs to put this guy in his place."

"No, I'm not," Steve says, glancing at the man in question before looking at Bucky again. "Look, it's been a good day, today; let's just go home and not let some jerk mess it up." 

For a moment it looks like Bucky isn't going to listen, but then he takes an abrupt step back, and sighs. "All right," he says. "All right. Let's go home."

They walk around the other two guys, but they barely take two steps before one of them calls out. "That's right! Listen to your _girlfriend_ and walk away!"

Bucky rounds on them with a snarl, and in the next instant the guy who spoke is on the floor, bleeding from a split lip.

There's a gasp from one of the onlookers, and Steve lunges forward to grab Bucky's arm again. "Buck! Let them go, it's not worth it, not today." 

"Let me go, Steve, I'm gonna kill this fucker, I swear it--"

"That's _enough,_ " Steve snaps, getting in front of Bucky and shoving him in the chest. "One comment is not worth getting arrested for!" 

That gives Bucky pause, and he looks between Steve and the guy on the ground, then at his friend. Steve's right, he knows it, but that doesn't make conceding defeat any easier. "Whatever," he spits, frustrated. "Come on."

Steve ignores the man's blustering, all but dragging Bucky back down the street to make sure the brunette doesn't try to go back and finish the fight he'd nearly started. "That was stupid," he says as they start up the stairs to their apartment. "What were you thinking?"

"I was defending you!" Bucky cries, indignant. "That asshole had no right, saying shit like that!"

"Maybe he didn't, but I don't need you defending me," Steve snaps. "I sure as hell don't need you getting _arrested_ because of it."

"That guy could've flattened you," Bucky argues. "He probably would have, if I hadn't been there!"

Steve sighs, fitting his key into the lock. "I told you to ignore him, Bucky. I know that's a bit hypocritical, coming from me, but we didn't need this tonight."

"Do we need it any night?" Bucky asks as he follows Steve into the apartment. "Isn't that the point?"

"Beating up one jerk isn't going to get them all to stop," Steve says. "You've told me that before. Sit down, let me grab a cloth for your knuckles."

"What?" Bucky looks down at his hand for the first time, and Steve's right; it's a mess. "Fuck."

"Language," Steve says mildly, wetting a cloth with cold water. "Here, lemme see." Steve takes a seat in front of Bucky, close enough that their knees are touching, and reaches for Bucky's hand.

Bucky lets him take it, hisses softly at the first press of the cloth against his knuckles. "I'm sorry, Steve," he says quietly. "I know you don't always need me to step in like that. I just-- I hate it when people get in your face, call you names like you're not worth ten of them. You don't need that shit."

"Nobody does, Buck," Steve points out, voice soft as he carefully wipes the blood from Bucky's knuckles. "I've been called a lot of names, and I'll be called a lot more. You know that's just how it goes."

"It shouldn't be."

"That don't make a lick of difference and you know it," Steve says. He can't resist letting his thumb sweep over Bucky's wrist, just once, as he dabs at the last of the blood. 

Bucky's breath hitches in his chest, and he covers it with a cough. "So, what do you think?" he asks lightly. "Am I gonna live?"

"I don't know," Steve says just as lightly, reluctantly letting Bucky's hand go. "Depends on if you go picking any more fights with men twice your size."

Bucky manages to laugh. "I'll try to keep that to a minimum."

Steve smiles. "Good," he says. "That's my job, you jerk." 

"Which means it's mine to keep you alive," Bucky reminds him.

* * *

Things continue as normal over the next few days, but on Wednesday Steve is late home from work, and Bucky's frantic worry ratchets up another few notches when he finally comes through the door, soaked to the bone and shivering hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "Christ, Steve!" Bucky yells, jumping to his feet. "What the hell happened?"

"Had some extra files," Steve manages to get out through the chattering. "Had to get them put away, and the umbrella broke in the wind." 

"Jesus, come here," Bucky says, grabbing the blanket they keep on the back of the sofa and throwing it around Steve's shoulders. He stays close after, grasps Steve's thin arms in strong hands and tries to rub some warmth into them. "You're like ice. Let's get you into the bath, huh?"

Steve wants to protest, but honestly a bath sounds amazing. "Yeah, let's - let's do that." 

"Come on," Bucky says softly. He wraps his arm around Steve's shoulders and guides him from the apartment.

"Thanks," Steve says, letting himself lean against Bucky as they walk down the hallway. "God, this is the last thing I need." 

"You're gonna be fine," Bucky tells him. "We're gonna get you warmed up and fed and into bed, and you'll be good as new by morning, you watch. Here." They've reached the bathroom, and Bucky pushes Steve to sit on the toilet lid while he draws the bath. "You feelin' okay?"

"Still cold," Steve answers, drawing the blanket closer around himself. "How'd your day go?"

"Fine," Bucky says, the edge to his voice born only out of worry. "Work, y'know? Some of the guys were talking about signing up at lunch, fuckin' idiots. That's about it." The bath is as full as he can get it now before the hot water runs out, so he turns the taps off and straightens up, wipes his hands on his thighs. "You gonna let me help you out of those clothes?"

Steve gives Bucky a petulant look. "'M not an invalid yet," he mutters, standing up and shrugging the blanket off before starting to peel himself out of his wet clothing. "Why are they idiots for wanting to sign up? They want to serve their country; that's not a bad thing." 

"They want to die," Bucky corrects, unable to help the way his gaze feasts hungrily on every inch of pale, clammy skin Steve reveals, on the shaky but rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He does look away, though, when Steve reaches for his belt. "That's a stupid thing."

Steve snorts, not paying any attention to anything but the bath as he finishes stripping. "Why do you think that?" 

"You know what happened the first time," Bucky says. "I don't need to remind you that your dad went off to war and never came home. No disrespect, Steve, but do you think that was smart, leavin' you and your ma, marchin' off to become cannon fodder for someone else's cause?"

Steve gives Bucky a glare, pausing as he's getting ready to step into the tub. "My dad went to war for a cause he believed in, and he did it to serve his country. Ma supported his decision." 

"And she supported you as well," Bucky says. "For the rest of her life, by herself."

"And she never regretted her decision, or his," Steve says sharply, turning away from Bucky as he slides into the tub; the hot water feels amazing on his chilled skin, but the nice bath he was looking forward to is looking like less and less of a possibility by the minute. Without looking back at Bucky, Steve dips his hands under the water, letting it warm his fingers before he reaches for the washcloth and sliver of soap. 

There's a moment of tense silence, and then Bucky sighs heavily, scrubbing a hand roughly through his hair. "I'm sorry," he says. "Christ, Steve, I didn't mean that. You know I loved your ma, and your dad only did what he thought was right. That was wrong of me to say."

Steve doesn't respond for a moment, too busy scrubbing at himself, trying to encourage circulation in his extremities. After a moment, he answers, "Thank you." His voice is quiet; the loss of his mother is still fresh, Sarah Rogers having died only three months ago. 

Bucky knows he's fucked up, feels it in the sharp twinge of pain in his own chest, but there's nothing he can do now, no words he can say to take back what's already left his mouth. He sighs again. "You want me to leave you to it?" he asks. "I can heat up some dinner so it's ready when you're done."

Part of Steve wants to ask Bucky to stay, but he knows himself, and right now that wouldn't be a smart idea for more than one reason. "Yeah, that'd be good; thanks." 

"No problem," Bucky says, already halfway out of the door. "Just come through when you're ready."

* * *

Bucky makes Steve go to bed as soon as he's eaten, Bucky's blanket and the one from the back of the sofa piled on top of his own for extra warmth. He's out like a light moments after his head hits the pillow, and Bucky frets over him for a little longer before finally letting himself relax enough to go to bed maybe an hour later. He was never a light sleeper before he moved in with Steve, but he soon learned to be the first time Steve got sick after, barely slept for a week and ever since he's been waking up at the slightest noise. He doesn't mind too much, and he's incredibly grateful for it when his eyes snap open somewhere around midnight just as Steve starts shaking and whimpering in his sleep.

Bucky all but falls out of bed, the chill in the air not bothering him one bit as he kicks himself free of his sheets and stumbles across the room. "Steve?" He touches Steve's face, his forehead, and finds his skin burning and slick with sweat; the pillow and his hair are already soaked through. "Steve, pal, c'mon, open your eyes."

It takes another few minutes before Steve can open his eyes; everything in his body is sore, and he feels like someone stuck him in an icebox. "Buck?" he manage to croak out.

"Hey, it's okay," Bucky says. He's already stripped the extra blankets from the bed and now he's carefully peeling the last layer back. "You're gonna be okay, we just gotta cool you off, all right?"

Steve whines, slim fingers grasping the sheet Bucky's trying to remove. "Don't," he whimpers. "Cold."

"I know," Bucky murmurs, releasing the sheet with one hand so he can smooth Steve's hair away from his face. "But these sheets are all wet, see? Let me take them off and we'll get you into my bed, and then you'll warm up."

Steve doesn't want to move; his very _bones_ are sore and aching, but he knows that Bucky is right. "Okay," he whispers, releasing the blanket. "Okay."

Bucky tosses the rest of the covers into the heap on the floor, and then grasps Steve's arms to get him sitting up. "Come on," he encourages gently. "Clothes as well. You gonna help me?"

Steve nods blearily, lifting a hand to the hem of his shirt. "I'll help," he mumbles, lifting his shirt up to try to tug it over his head.

He's actually more of a hindrance than a help, but the fact that he's trying at all reassures Bucky somewhat. Together they get him stripped down to his underwear and then Bucky helps him to his feet and guides him over to the other bed, the sheets thankfully having cooled quickly without Bucky's body heat to warm them. "Okay, how's that, is that better? How do you feel?"

"Still cold," Steve mutters, shifting on the bed. "Stay?" 

"Of course," Bucky says, because he has enough difficulty denying Steve anything when he's well, and his resolve is about as sturdy as wet tissue paper when Steve's like this. He's still got half a glass of water on his bedside table, so he grabs it and raises it to Steve's lips. "Drink this for me and then I'll let you go back to sleep."

Steve complies, drinking the water slowly; his throat hurts, too, and it's painful to swallow. Once the glass is empty, Steve settles back against the bed, tugging the covers up to his chin. "You getting in?" 

"If you can lose the covers," Bucky bargains. "Just for now. I'm warm enough, I promise."

Steve doesn't want to let any of the blankets go, but he wants Bucky's company more. "I keep one," he counters. 

"The thinnest."

Steve grumbles, but he knows he won't get anywhere with Bucky, not when he's this sick. "Fine." 

Bucky takes the rest of the blankets off the bed and then slides beneath the remaining sheet with Steve. The bed isn't big by any means, might even be smaller than a regular single, but Steve is tiny, and it's only a little uncomfortable - more than worth having Steve safe and content next to him. "All right," Bucky murmurs, back to petting Steve's hair again. "Try to get some sleep."

Steve sighs, letting himself relax - although not enough to curl into Bucky the way he desperately wants to. "Okay," he sighs, allowing himself to wrap just one arm around the other man. "You too." 

"Don't worry about me," Bucky says, but Steve's already asleep.

* * *

When morning comes, Bucky smacks their little alarm clock so hard that it hits the floor and breaks open with a crash loud enough to wake the dead. It doesn't wake Steve, though; Steve doesn't stir until Bucky gets out of bed. He's looking a little better, his cheeks pink and his eyes bright but his hair no longer slick with sweat, his skin no longer burning. Bucky gets him another drink before grabbing his clothes and escaping into the shared bathroom.

Once he's washed and dressed Bucky approaches the bed again, feels Steve's forehead for a final time, and decides that it's safe to go to work. "I'm gonna give Mrs Higgins the spare key so she can come in and check on you later, okay?" he says quietly. "Do you need anything?"

Steve shakes his head; everything's a bit fuzzy still, but he can at least manage to get himself down to the bathroom whenever he needs it. "I'll be fine," he says. "You should get going; don't wanna be late for work." 

Bucky smiles. "I'm leaving now," he says. "I'll drop into your place on my way down and let them know."

He's still late for work, spends too much time making sure that Steve has everything he could possibly need close at hand and then that Mrs Higgins knows how to get into the apartment and where the soup Steve likes best is kept, but it's worth it to know that Steve won't want for anything all day.

* * *

Bucky has to work twice as hard _and_ for twice the time he missed in the morning to keep his boss off his back, and by the time he gets home he's disgusting and exhausted and wants nothing more than to collapse onto the couch and sleep for a week. His energy returns to him pretty fast, though, when he starts up the stairs to their apartment to see Mrs Higgins letting herself out. She only agreed to look after Steve until five, when her husband was due home, and it's nearly eight now.

"Mrs Higgins?" Bucky demands, running up the last seven steps to their landing. "What is it? Is he okay?"

Mrs. Higgins gives Bucky a smile. "He's fine, dear; still tired, poor thing. I was just bringing over some of the extra bread my Wilfred brought home." 

Bucky actually feels his heart start beating again. "Oh," he says, sighs really, the word no more than a heavy exhalation of breath. "Oh, okay. Thanks, Mrs Higgins, we really appreciate it."

Mrs. Higgins smile is understanding. "You're welcome, James. You take care of him, you hear? If you need anything, just give a shout." 

"I will, Mrs Higgins," Bucky promises, his voice still breathy with relief. "Thanks again." He lets himself into the apartment and all but falls through the door, shutting it behind him as quietly as he can before going in search of the patient. "Steve?" he whisper-calls as he moves carefully toward the bedroom. "Steve?"

"In here, Buck," comes the answer from the bedroom; Steve's voice sounds stronger, and he looks it as well. "How'd work go?" 

"Good," Bucky lies, rolling his shoulders. "Sorry I'm so late back. How are you feeling?"

"Better." Steve knows that Bucky isn't telling him the whole truth, but he lets it go for right now. "Sore?" 

"Nothin' I can't handle," Bucky says with a smile.

Steve rolls his eyes, pushing himself up until he's sitting on the bed, covers wrapped loosely around his shoulders. "Sit," he orders, pointing at the floor. "You can't afford straining something." 

Bucky heaves a put-upon sigh, but drops to the floor without comment. "Happy?"

"Almost," Steve says, rubbing his hands together to warm them up a bit before he sets them on Bucky's shoulders, beginning to knead in a rough massage. 

Bucky groans, his head dropping forward. "Oh God," he sighs. "You're amazing."

"I know," Steve says lightly, amazed he can hear Bucky above the pounding of his heart in his chest. He hardly ever gets the chance to touch Bucky like this. 

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Bucky asks, unable to relax into Steve's touch completely. "Maybe you should still be lying down."

"I've been lying down all day, Buck," Steve points out. "And giving you a shoulder massage isn't that strenuous. Now shut up and enjoy it." 

Bucky laughs softly. "Whatever you say."

"Well, right now I'm saying to relax, otherwise this isn't going to do," Steve says with a grin as he digs his fingers into the place where Bucky's neck meets his shoulders. "You wanna take this dirty shirt off?" 

"Shit, yeah," Bucky says, shrugging Steve's hands off so he can tug the shirt over his head. "Sorry, I didn't think."

It's an effort to make himself sound normal. "It's fine," Steve says, hesitating only briefly before allowing himself to touch Bucky again, this time starting to work his way down both shoulders. 

Bucky is boneless in no time, and he groans his appreciation again. "If I could have you doing this all day, I swear I would."

Steve laughs quietly, leaning forward so he can put his weight behind working out a particularly tough knot, drawing out the time he gets to touch Bucky like this for as long as he can. "We've gotta make rent, Buck," he points out. "Can't do that if neither of us are working." 

Bucky grunts as Steve's fingers dig into a particularly painful area, but doesn't complain; even when it hurts, it feels too good to complain. "Don't I know it," he says. "Your boss said to take the rest of the week, by the way. Mine'll pay me extra if I work a little later."

"I can't take the rest of the week off!" Steve protests, hands stilling on Bucky's shoulders. "It's only Tuesday!" 

"You're sick," Bucky says, shifting his shoulders restlessly. "We've got some money saved. We can afford it."

"We don't have that much money, Buck," Steve's says, a bit more gently. "We really should save it for something worse than a little cold." 

"We'll earn it back," Bucky argues.

"And what if you get injured? You bring in most of the money, and if you can't work, my job pays enough to cover the rent but not any food or medicine."

"I'm not gonna get injured," Bucky insists. "I've been working there how long now? And have I come home once with so much as a pulled muscle?"

"Almost did it today," Steve points out. "We need to be safe." 

Bucky sighs. "Fine," he says, "but you're taking tomorrow off at least. Your health is more important than a few bucks."

"All right," Steve says, rolling his eyes as he resumes the massage. "I'll take tomorrow off, but I'll be there Thursday." 

Bucky hums, closing his eyes in bliss. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

Steve stills, heat rising to his cheeks at the nickname. "Just shut up and let me work." 

Bucky, his own face burning, doesn't say another word.

* * *

Steve does go back to work on Thursday, and Bucky tries not to spend the entire day worrying about him. He seems fine that night though, and even better by Friday, so when he gets home from work Bucky gets washed and dressed again and goes out for the night. He manages to leave before Steve gets in from the office, and he's glad of that. They'd continued to share a bed up until Thursday and Steve has been giving him massages after every shift, and the ridiculously close physical proximity has been screwing with Bucky's head.

He isn't out for long, actually. Just long enough to down a few drinks at the bar he's now been to four times and find a skinny blond guy who's far too tall, and persuade him to remedy the fantasy by getting on his knees. Bucky returns the favour, a quick handjob because he doesn't want the guy's come in his mouth, and leaves.

Steve's home when he gets back, and Bucky expects some kind of lecture, or at least a demand to know where he's been. Instead, Steve doesn't even look up, just keeps looking down at his hands like he did the night his mom died. Bucky feels cold all over, sober as a judge as he moves slowly into the sitting room. "Steve? You okay?"

Steve sighs, sliding a piece of paper out for Bucky to see. It's a registration form, stamped IF. "I had time on my lunch break." 

What little blood remains in Bucky's face drains away. "Tell me you're joking."

Steve shoots Bucky a look. "I wouldn't joke about this, Buck." 

Bucky's expression hardens. "Well, I'm glad they didn't take you. What the hell were you thinking, Steve?"

"I was thinking I have a right to try to defend my country!" Steve snaps. 

"Have you seen you?" Bucky snaps. "A strong breeze would knock you over -you wouldn't stand a chance out there!"

"Well I don't have to fight," Steve retorts. "I know I'm not strong, Bucky, but I could help the medics, or work anywhere else! I just want to help." 

"It's not your fight, Steve," Bucky says, struggling to keep his voice gentle. "You're more use to your country right here."

"Doing what?" Steve demands. "Pulling a little red wagon and collecting scrap?" 

"Well, why not?!"

Steve pushes himself to his feet, shoving past Bucky so he can pace. "Because I'm not a goddamn kid, Bucky!" 

"Then act like it!" Bucky snaps. "Use your head! If you go out there, you'll get sick, you'll _die_! And then what am I supposed to do?" It's out before he can stop it, but he doesn't fall all over himself trying to take it back, because it's true. Sure, Bucky still has his mom and his sisters, and he'd be lost without them, but Steve is his _life_ , has been since they were children. That, at least, isn't a secret.

"There are people who go out there and die fighting!" Steve retorts. "Even if I get sick, I'll have helped in some way; I got no right to do any less than those who fight." 

"They got plenty of people out there, Steve," Bucky tries, placating now. "They don't need you, pal. I do."

"And what happens if you get drafted?" Steve demands, refusing to be placated. "Am I supposed to sit back here in Brooklyn with my thumbs up my ass?" 

"I'm not gonna get drafted," Bucky says. "I work at the docks, I'm protected!"

"That doesn't change the fact that I should be doing whatever I can to help," Steve retorts. 

Bucky sighs. "I don't know what you want me to say, Steve. They won't take you whether you agree with me or not, and I'm selfish enough to be glad of that."

Steve glares at Bucky. "Fine," he bites out. "Y'know what? I'm going to bed. Goodnight." 

Bucky reaches out and grabs Steve's wrist before he can walk away. It feels so thin in his hand, so brittle, and he immediately gentles his hold. "Steve," he says. "Please."

"It's been a long day," Steve says without looking back as he twists his wrist out of Bucky's hand. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

Bucky lets him go, because what else is he supposed to do? 

* * *

They both have work the next day, and Bucky gets up before dawn to fix Steve an apology breakfast. It's something he's only done a few times before, when he's really, truly screwed up, and he feels like this is as good a time as any to repeat the gesture. It's not much - toast with the last of their marmalade smeared on top, and a mug of strong coffee - but when Steve gets up it's waiting for him on the kitchen table, and Bucky hopes he'll see it for what it is.

Steve gets up when his alarm goes off, and when he shuffles into the kitchen, the spread on the kitchen table brings him up short. He blinks, then glances at Bucky. "Apology breakfast?" 

"It was the best I could do on short notice," Bucky mumbles into his own mug. "I also made your lunch."

"Oh." Steve sits, taking in the food in front of him for a moment before reaching for the coffee. "For last night?" 

Bucky nods. "I know why it's so important to you," he says. "I do understand, even if I don't agree. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that."

"Thank you," Steve says quietly, smiling slightly. "I shouldn't have snapped at you either; I know you're just worried." 

"I'm sorry you got knocked back," Bucky offers. "But at least this way you'll be around to keep my stupid ass out of trouble, huh?"

Steve's smile gets just a little bigger. "Yeah, there is that," he chuckles. 

Bucky smiles back. "You an' me, huh? That's how it's meant to be."

"That's how it's meant to be," Steve agrees, lifting his mug to Buck in a mock salute. 

* * *

It's clear that Steve is still troubled by the rejection, but he seems lighter after that, and Bucky is grateful for it. He makes sure they spend plenty of time together over the weekend, pulls out all the stops to cheer Steve up and put that beautiful smile back on his face, and by the time Monday rolls around and they have to go back to work, he thinks they'll be okay. Steve doesn't mention the army once, seems content with going to work every day and rubbing the tension from Bucky's shoulders every night, and Bucky knows it's selfish, he _does_ , but he's so relieved. The last thing he wants is Steve pining after the lost opportunity to abandon him to go overseas and get himself blown up.

They make it to the weekend in one piece, so Bucky takes Steve out. He finds a couple of dames to go with them, of course, but that's just so that the whispers already being aimed their way in the streets don't get louder; they go to a bar that plays the kind of music Steve likes, and Bucky spends more time talking to Steve than to either of the girls, until Bucky's half convinced that they'll walk out on the both of them within the next half hour. It's probably better if they do; Bucky's got no interest in them and Steve doesn't seem to either. But for now...

"Another round, ladies?" Bucky asks, grinning. He's nowhere near drunk yet but he's tipsy enough that he's having a great time even with the girls there, though that might have more to do with the light flush that's been dusting Steve's cheeks since he finished his first drink. The girls look unsure for a moment but then agree, and Bucky winks at Steve as he slides out of their booth. Maybe he's closer to drunk than he'd originally thought.

The bar is busy when he reaches it but his order is taken with the promise that it'll be with him as quickly as possible, and Bucky leans against the polished wood while he waits, paying more attention to the wallet in his hands than to his surroundings - which is probably why he doesn't notice that he has company until the guy speaks.

It's Tim, and he gives Bucky a grin. "Well, well," he all but purrs, using the noise of the bar to cover the tone of his voice. "If it isn't John. I haven't seen you around for a while." 

Bucky quickly schools his utterly horrified expression into an easy smile, resists the urge to glance back at Steve and the girls to make sure they're not looking. "Hey," he says. "It's Daniel, right?"

Tim has to resist the urge to smirk. "Yes it is. How have you been doing? It's been a while since we've talked." 

"I, uhh... I've been good," Bucky answers. "Just busy; haven't been out in a while."

"Well, keeping busy isn't always a bad thing," Tim says, shifting closer to Bucky. "You should come back to the bar sometime," Tim continues; after a surreptitious glance around to make sure no one’s looking, he places a hand on Bucky's knee, sliding it up just a little bit, just enough to indicate his interest. "I owe you a drink for last time." 

Bucky's face burns, but even so, his hand lingers for just a moment too long on top of Daniel's before he pushes it away. "I thought our kind didn't court," he says, smiling despite himself.

"Who says I'm courting you for anything other than a night of fun?" Tim says with a grin. "Think about it; I'm there almost every night." With that, he hops off of the barstool and walks away. 

And across the bar's dance floor, a pair of blue eyes below a furrowed brow and above a suddenly-aching heart watches him walk away. 

* * *

Just as Bucky predicted, both girls leave after they've finished their drinks, but instead of settling in to enjoy the rest of their evening together, Steve decides to call it a night. He seems surprised when Bucky opts to go with him, not disappointed exactly but not happy, either. They're both quiet on the walk home, but once the door is locked behind them Bucky has to ask. "Are you all right? Didn't you have a good time?"

"Yeah, I had a great time," Steve says, taking off his jacket and hanging it up without looking at Bucky; if he does, all he'll see is that - that _guy_ touching him like he had a right to. Like he _knew_ Bucky well enough to be able to take that liberty. 

"Then what's got your panties in a bunch now?" Bucky asks.

Steve sighs, biting back his first retort: _Nothing, except for the fact that you lied to me about how you felt about two men together, and I'm pretty sure it's because you don't approve of us together because you figured out that I love you._ Instead, he says, "Nothing. It's just been a long week, okay?" 

"Steve, I can tell something's eating you," Bucky says. "You've been acting weird for weeks. Would you just talk to me?"

Steve seizes on the first excuse that comes to mind. "It's just the whole joining-the-army thing," he says, heading for their bedroom. "I'll get over it eventually, I just need some time." 

"Okay," Bucky sighs. "Well, if there's anything I can do--" The bedroom door is shut before he can finish his sentence.

* * *

Two weeks later, Bucky comes home to an all-too-familiar sight: Steve on the sofa, looking miserable and dejected, a letter on the seat next to him. "You didn't," Bucky says, before he can think better of it. " _Again?_ "

Steve gives Bucky a glare. "Yes, I did," he snaps. "And you'll be happy to know that I got rejected, again." 

Bucky sighs, moves the paper so he can sit down next to Steve. "You know I'm not happy because you're not getting what you want," he says. "How did you even get them to let you apply again?"

"I changed the hometown," Steve confesses after the silence has stretched on for several uncomfortable minutes. 

Bucky huffs a soft laugh. "My god," he says. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

Steve frowns, leaning away from Bucky a little bit more. "Of course I am." 

"Hey," Bucky says, frowning. "I'm not laughing at you - I just, I don't know. I guess I didn't realise." He sighs, realises that he needs to at least try to be supportive. "What did they say this time?"

"Rejected even for medical on account of 'household contact with tuberculosis'" Steve says bitterly. 

Bucky winces. "I'm sorry, pal," he says, and he's completely sincere. "You gonna try again?"

Steve sighs. "Probably," he admits. 

Bucky nods. He hates it, but he hates the tension his attitude is causing between them more. "I'll help you in any way I can."

Steve snorts. "No, you won't; if I get in trouble for lying on an enlistment form, that's one thing. But I won't get you in trouble either." 

Bucky sighs. "Maybe I can just help you come up with better lies."

"I appreciate the thought," Steve says. "But I don't need you to help with this." 

"All right," Bucky says, pushing himself to his feet. "Just thought I'd offer."

"And I appreciate it," Steve repeats with a slight smile. "But I'll be fine."

* * *

Steve tries again once more in the run-up to Christmas, and is unsuccessful yet again. Bucky tries his best to be supportive, but they both know he's relieved, and it just might piss Steve off more than the rejection. Bucky goes back to the bar after that and spends the night and half of the following day with Daniel. He's been seeing a lot of Daniel lately.

Bucky and Steve spend Thanksgiving together, though it's a small affair, and they manage to have a nice time - but by the time Christmas begins to approach, things are getting bad again, and Bucky's out drinking almost every night. The Sunday before Christmas he stays in, though, and approaches Steve with the utmost caution while he's ironing his work shirt for the next day.

"Hey," he says softly, hovering in the doorway. "My ma says we should stay there Tuesday night. So we can all get up together on Christmas morning."

"She wants us to spend Christmas together?" Steve asks, glancing at Bucky. 

"Of course," Bucky says, blinking. "We only didn't go there for Thanksgiving because they all went to my Aunt Ida's last minute."

Steve doesn't answer right away; when he does, it's more of a shrug than anything else. "Okay." 

Bucky hesitates, but he can't leave it alone. "Is that okay?" he asks. "I figured you didn't have any plans, but if I was wrong..."

"No, I don't have any plans," Steve says, returning to his ironing. "It's just... This will be the first Christmas without my mother. It's hard, realizing that."

"I know," Bucky says softly, moving further into the room. "That's why we don't want you to be on your own."

"I appreciate it," Steve says honestly. "If your mom's willing to let me bring a pie, I'm in." 

Bucky grins. "I'm sure that can be arranged."

* * *

The two of them head over to Bucky's mom's house after work on Tuesday, and it's actually really nice. What with work and Steve - _and Daniel_ , a guilty voice in the back of his head murmurs - Bucky doesn't get to see his mom or his sister often enough, and it's great to reconnect with them, and to have Steve there, too. Both Bucky's mom and Rebecca adore Steve, and they include him into the Christmas eve family traditions without so much as blinking. Steve seems to be genuinely enjoying himself; Bucky's glad he's sharing this with them, and not just because it feels like making up in some tiny, barely-significant way for the fact that Steve can't be indulging in his own family traditions with his mom.

Christmas morning is just like it's always been in the Barnes household - manic. Bucky's mom wakes them up bright and early so that they can help cook a huge breakfast _and_ start on the even bigger dinner, and refuses to let them open any presents until the kitchen is as chaos-free as possible. Bucky got his mom a new set of kitchen knives like she asked, his sister a bottle of perfume the girl at the store recommended, and Steve a new set of charcoals. In return, he gets a new shaving kit from his mom like he asked and some new gel for his hair from Rebecca. He's not sure what Steve got his family, because he's out of the room when that exchange happens, but whatever it is earns him a delighted squeal from Rebecca and a kiss on the cheek from Mrs Barnes that Bucky walks in on the end of; he spies the beautiful blanket that he knows his mom and his sister bought together before Steve tucks it back into its bag, his cheeks stained a delicate pink. But Bucky doesn't get anything from Steve himself.

.

He wouldn't mind, really, except that Steve has been avoiding him all day. They've barely said two words to each other except from a stilted 'Merry Christmas' when they woke up together in Bucky's childhood bedroom, and Bucky's worried. He knows that this must be awful for Steve, though, and as Bucky knew Sarah Rogers the best out of everyone here, he wonders if maybe that's why Steve's been distancing himself. Still, that doesn't mean he should suffer alone.

Bucky finds him alone in his bedroom maybe half an hour before dinner, and closes the door softly behind him so that they can have some privacy. "How are you holding up?"

Steve shrugs, not looking at Bucky; he'd tensed as soon as the door shut behind Bucky, and while _logically_ he knows that Bucky isn't going to do anything, he can't help worrying. "Okay," he says. "I'll have to thank your mom again for letting me stay over." 

"She's glad to have you," Bucky says with a careful smile. "We all are."

Rather than reassure him, Bucky's words make Steve feel sick to his stomach. They wouldn't be glad to have Steve here if they knew how Steve felt about their son and brother; Bucky himself can’t stand to be in their apartment now. "Right," Steve says shortly, turning away from Bucky and busying himself with straightening the sheets on Bucky's old bed. "Well, I'm looking forward to going back home." 

"Oh," Bucky says, a little taken aback by the edge in Steve's voice. "Why's that?"

Steve shrugs one shoulder and answers without turning around. "I feel like I'm intruding." It's not quite the truth, but hell if Steve is gonna say exactly what he means while he's trapped in Bucky's childhood bedroom. 

Bucky's jaw hits the floor. " _What?_ " he demands. "Of course you're not intruding, Steve! What have we done to make you feel unwelcome?"

"Your family hasn't done anything," Steve says; he's no longer fiddling with the blanket, but he's still not facing Bucky. "I just - the problem is me, okay?" 

"You?" Bucky asks. "Aw hell, Steve, have _I_ done something? 'Cause I didn't mean it, I swear - you belong here!"

"No, it's - it's nothing, Buck," Steve protests, because how do you tell the roommate you're in love with that you feel slighted and hurt because apparently he'd rather go out and fuck half the dames in Brooklyn, and maybe half the guys, too, than hang out with you? "It's fine, Buck, really. I'm just in a funk."

"I get it," Bucky tries. "I know you miss your ma, but having fun here, it ain't disrespectin' her, you know that, right?"

"I know that," Steve snaps, irritated now that Bucky isn't dropping the subject. "That's not what I - that's not it. Just leave it, Buck." 

"No," Bucky says, stubborn. "Things've been bad for weeks, Steve, I don't understand. What have I done, huh? 'Cause I can't work it out for the life of me. Is it about the army?"

"No, it's not that," Steve says, getting a little desperate now. "I wouldn't be mad at you if it was just the army thing - " And Steve's going to hate himself for what he's about to say next, what it implies, but right now he just wants Bucky to leave him alone. So, the next words that burst out are: "I'm sick of your pity!" 

"My _pity_?" Bucky demands, insulted. "You think I _pity_ you? Jesus Christ, Steve, that's the last thing I--" He cuts himself off with a disgusted sound. "Whatever. If that's what you really think then you won't want me around. I'll get out of your hair, okay? Merry fuckin' Christmas." He slams out of the bedroom before Steve has a chance to respond.

* * *

Mrs. Barnes is obviously worried about Bucky, but she's mollified when Steve tells her they had a bit of an argument but he's going to go find Bucky and apologize. And he would, too - if Bucky was at their apartment. Steve had thought he would go back there, but when he's not where Steve expects him to be, the blond is stumped. 

He has no idea where Bucky could have gone, but while searching for any hint, he stumbles across the sketchbook he'd hidden away from Bucky. It’s his private one, and filled with sketches that Steve swore would never be seen by any eyes but his own. He's briefly distracted by flipping through its pages, but when the clock strikes five, Steve decides he can't wait for Bucky to come home - if he even wants to come home. Abandoning the sketchbook, Steve barely pauses to grab his coat before leaving the apartment. 

Steve doesn't actually know where Bucky goes when he's not at work or at home, but he checks all of the local bars, some of which Bucky has taken him to before, and then the clubs a little further from home that he suspects Bucky frequents. His search is unsuccessful, however, and finally Steve turns for home, wondering if maybe Bucky has ended up there after all. He's walking down a darkened street with music pouring from at least four separate establishments when he hears it - a broken off little moan. Steve freezes, and just like the night that started all of this, he can't help himself from stealing a look down the closest alley where the sound had come from.

Well, he's found Bucky - pressed against the alley wall with his head thrown back and his eyes closed, his lips parted on another breathy gasp as his left hand grips a handful of fair hair. Steve can't see his partner's face because it's buried in Bucky's crotch, but he doesn't need more than a single glance to know that the person on their knees for Bucky is a man. Small, slight, and blond, the resemblance is uncanny - and suddenly Steve understands a lot more about Bucky Barnes than he ever dreamed possible.

Right before his eyes, Bucky comes with a sharp cry, his fingers twisting in not-Steve's hair until it looks almost painful, and Steve runs.

* * *

Bucky doesn't spare a thought for the footsteps running past the mouth of the alley as he tucks himself back into his trousers and offers the guy whose name he can't remember a hand up. Once he's upright the guy immediately tries to press that hand to his own crotch, but Bucky snatches it away stalks off, disgusted with himself more than anything. He needs to go home and talk to Steve, and even if this night ends with him agreeing to never see Steve again, he has to make things right somehow.

He returns to the apartment, intent on waiting for Steve to return from his mom's place - but he catches sight of the open bedroom door, and frowns. He's sure that they closed that before they left the day before. Bucky picks up an umbrella, the closest blunt weapon, before carefully approaching the open door. The room is empty, and Bucky rolls his eyes at himself; who was he expecting to see, a thief? He'd have heard something.

What he most certainly was not expecting to see was a sketchbook laying open on Steve's bed. It's not a sketchbook Bucky recognizes, which is odd, considering he buys most of Steve's sketchbooks for him, but his curiosity is piqued; what could Steve be drawing that he'd feel the need to hide from Bucky? A guilty little voice in the back of his mind scolds him for snooping, but Bucky shuts it up by arguing that the sketchbook is lying open on the bed, in plain view - surely it won't hurt anything if he just looks at the page it's open to?

He probably should have listened to that little voice. The first page the sketchbook is open to is covered with sketches; body studies, it looks like, but the tone is... intimate. Steve obviously spent a lot of time on these sketches, even if they're just the curve of a shoulder, the cut of a hip, or the definition of a spine, but as Bucky studies them, he realizes that they don't just look familiar because they're Steve's style. They look familiar because they're _Bucky's_ body. There's a small scar on his shoulder, from the time in high school when he got shoved into a broken bottle in an alleyway, and Steve has replicated the scar perfectly. The second page has sketches that have been backed out to show more of the subject's body, and again, Bucky can see himself replicated on the paper, almost every inch of him sketched out in graphite and charcoal.

Swallowing heavily, Bucky turns the page - _They're pictures of me,_ he argues to the voice in his head that's trying to tell him to just walk back out of the room. _I deserve to see the pictures of me._

The next two pages are one big sketch, spread out over both. There are two bodies in this one, and the pose is intimate. One body is small, slight - the viewer can see only the back, but Bucky _knows_ that back, and the angle of the smaller man's arm makes it clear that he's reaching between the two bodies, aiming towards his crotch. Bucky can't see the join of their bodies, the sketch cuts off just under the start of the smaller man's buttocks, but he recognizes both the men and the position: Him and Steve, together in the most carnal of ways.

Bucky drops the sketchbook as if it's burned him, and all but falls on his ass trying to scramble away from Steve's bed. He has no idea what this means, has no idea how long he's been staring at these pictures, even, but he can't look at any more without talking to Steve, and--

The slam of the front door nearly makes Bucky jump out of his skin, but there's no time to freak out or second-guess himself; he just grabs the sketchbook and heads out to meet his match, one way or the other, in the sitting room.

Steve's first reaction when he sees Bucky coming out of the bedroom is unadulterated relief; at least he didn't get caught by anyone else. His second reaction is confusion; the look on the brunette's face is unreadable, and it takes Steve a moment to recognize what's in Bucky's hand. When he does, the blood drains from his face. "Where did you find that?" he demands, voice shaky as he stumbles forward, reaching out for the sketchbook. 

Bucky hands it over without hesitation, glad that he closed it before coming outside so Steve can't tell exactly what he's seen. "It was on your bed," he says. "Open; I had a quick look, but..."

"What did you see?" Steve asks sharply, holding the book close to his chest, almost defensively. There was a reason he'd hidden this sketchbook, and he can't believe he didn't put it back away. 

"Enough," is Bucky's answer, and he sounds as wrecked as he feels. "Once I realised what it was, I stopped looking, I swear."

Steve nods, not looking directly at Bucky. "I'm sorry," he offers, quiet, "but - I saw you. Tonight. Your ma was worried, I went looking for you, thought you'd be here, but you weren't. I saw you in alley, with - " _With a guy who could have been my twin._

Bucky winces. "I guess we have some stuff to talk about."

"Yeah," Steve says, sighing. "We do. We should - probably sit down?"

Bucky just nods and sinks heavily onto the sofa, making sure to press himself right up against the arm when Steve takes the sofa, too. "So where do we start?" he asks.

"Maybe with the fact that you've been sleeping with _men?_ " Steve suggests. "Even though you specifically told me you thought that was disgusting?" 

Bucky's cheeks flame. "Well, what queer do you know who wouldn't say that?" he demands. "If I'd known what kind of company I was keeping, though, who knows?"

"What?"

"Queers only have to hide from straight people, Steve."

"Bucky, just spit it out."

Bucky sighs. "I don't know if you're just into guys or if you like girls, too," he says, "but you can't deny it. The way you draw me in that--" He nods to the sketchbook, inhales a shaky breath; "--it's like I'm a dame you're in love with."

"I thought you said you didn't look," Steve says sharply, unconsciously leaning away from Bucky. 

"I didn't look much," Bucky insists, "and I didn't mean to, but God, Steve, how could I not? Those drawings were--"

"Private," Steve snaps. "It's one thing if I accidentally left this open, but you had no right to look at anything else." 

"Steve," Bucky says, bewildered. "You gotta help me out here, kid."

"Oh, I've got to 'help you out?'" Steve demands. "How? Like the guy who looked _almost exactly like me_ was helping you out earlier?"

"Fuck," Bucky hisses, throwing his head back until it hits the back of the couch with a soft _thump_. "You shouldn't've had to see that."

Steve sighs, looking down at the sketchbook that he's clutching like it's his latest shield. "I wondered," he confesses after a long moment of silence. "About how you felt about me. If you - if you knew how _I_ felt about you."

"No," Bucky says, lifting his head to look at Steve almost imploringly. "I had no idea until I saw that book. I still don't."

"Really? I mean, if you saw any of those drawings... You said it yourself, Buck; I wasn't exactly subtle."

"I know what it looks like," Bucky says. "That doesn't mean I'm right."

Steve doesn't look up when he asks, voice quiet, "And if you're right?" 

Bucky sighs. "Steve, everything I've ever wanted is in that book."

Steve looks up, unable to quell the hope slowly blooming in his chest. "It is?" 

Bucky nods. "You have no idea," he says. "I've been going out of my mind these last few months, trying to keep it from you."

"You didn't have to, though," Steve says softly. "I mean, even if I didn't - feel that way about you, I wouldn't have hated you or kicked you out. You had to know that." 

"I didn't," Bucky says. "That kind of shit, it changes everything."

"Buck, you're my best friend above everything else," Steve replies. 

"Which is why I wasn't willing to risk it," Bucky argues.

Steve sighs. "I wouldn't have done anything, Buck," he says quietly. "Except been hopeful that maybe I had a chance with you." 

"Well, you know now," Bucky says, just as quiet. "Have I fucked everything up anyway?"

"Not if I haven't," Steve answers. "I've been acting weird because - I saw you and that other man, the last time we went out with a couple of girls. I thought maybe you'd figured me out, that you were okay with queers, but you weren't okay with _me._ With the way I felt about you." 

Bucky shakes his head. "I swear, if I'd had any idea, I never would've even looked at anyone else."

That gets Steve to finally look up and meet Bucky's gaze. "Honest?" 

"Honest," Bucky says. He ducks his head, suddenly fascinated by his own hands. "I'm not proud of it, but sleepin' around, going with different dames and different guys, it's all been for want of you."

"Oh." Steve's not quite sure what to make of that, but after a moment, he carefully asks, "Are you going to keep going out?" _Do you want to? Are you sure you want me?_ is what he's too afraid to ask out loud. 

Bucky looks up, risks a soft smile. "Not without you on my arm."

Steve flushes, his neck and cheeks going a splotchy red, but he's smiling, too, pleased with Bucky's answer. "I'd like that." 

Bucky reaches out, takes Steve's hand in a gentle hold. "I'm really sorry," he says. "This whole thing has been such a big misunderstanding, but I never meant to hurt you."

"I know you didn't," Steve says, daring to flip his hand in Bucky's hold so he can tangle their fingers together. "And I didn't exactly help with the misunderstanding." 

Bucky squeezes lightly, strokes his thumb over the back of Steve's knuckles. "Friends again?" he asks, a teasing edge to his voice.

"I don't know," Steve says thoughtfully. "Is that all we are?" 

Bucky's laugh is soft, if a little shy. "I really hope not."

Steve grins. "Well, I think that could be arranged." 

Bucky grins back. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Steve confirms, scooting a bit closer and setting the sketchbook on the arm of the couch. "If you want it." 

"I want it," Bucky promises, closing the rest of the distance between them so that he can crowd in close, rest his hand gently on Steve's knee. "I more than want it, Steve."

Maybe it's the long day, maybe it's the stress of the past few months finally breaking him, maybe it's both of those things, or maybe it's neither, but Steve finds the courage _somewhere_ to say, to challenge, "Yeah? Show me." 

Bucky's eyes widen. "Steve..."

"You're not going to chicken out on me now, are you, Barnes?" Steve asks, but he doesn't try to hide the vulnerability in his tone. 

And Bucky gets it, so he brings the hand on Steve's knee up to cup his face, tilting it as he leans in so that their noses brush together. "Not on your life, Rogers," he murmurs, and then they're kissing.

Steve's imagined this moment a hundred times, has even sketched it - but nothing could have prepared him for how it really feels. Bucky's lips are chapped, but still soft against his, and Steve brings his free hand up to rest against Bucky's neck, his thumb sweeping the skin just behind Bucky's jaw and below his ear as they slowly pull apart. Steve doesn't go far, not willing to put more space between them than necessary. "At least one of us knows what they're doing," Steve mumbles under his breath. 

Bucky huffs a soft laugh, dipping forward to steal another kiss. "That was not your first kiss," he says.

"No," Steve admits, after he's caught his breath. "Second." 

Bucky grins. "You dog," he says affectionately. "Who was your first?"

"Mindy Meyers, in tenth grade," Steve answers. "I helped her out with her geography homework."

Bucky laughs. "You never told me about that," he says. "Was she awful?"

"Not as good as you," Steve says before he can think about it. "I think I might've been hers, too." 

Bucky hums, kisses Steve again. "Lucky girl."

Steve smiles, one arm curling around the back of Bucky's shoulders. "Lucky me," he corrects. "I'm the one who gets _you_." 

* * *

They spend the rest of the night trading soft words and softer kisses, and when they finally head for bed, Bucky pulls Steve into his own. They don't do anything besides kiss some more, but it's the best night's sleep they've both had for weeks, and that's more than enough for Bucky.

He wakes up just before dawn because Steve smacks him in the mouth when he rolls over, but he doesn't mind. He's more than content to watch Steve sleep, marvel at the way the light from the rising sun filters in through their curtains and touches his face just so. Bucky can't draw for shit, but if he could he'd never stop drawing Steve; he more than understands why Steve has so many pictures of him now. It's such a serene moment, and Bucky could honestly stay like this foever, is thinking that he just might - but then his alarm goes off, and reality comes crashing down on him like a bucket of ice-cold water.

The rest of the world is still out there, and the happiness they've finally found in each other's arms is still very much illegal.

Steve's only half-awake, so it takes him a few minutes to register the sudden tenseness in Bucky's frame. "Hmm?" he hums, turning back over to face Bucky. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," Bucky murmurs, brushing Steve's hair out of his eyes. "Just gotta go to work, is all. You got the day off?" It's a testament to how bad the last few weeks have been that he even has to ask.

It takes Steve's mind a moment to kick into gear. "Yeah," he says. "It's only the day after Christmas. I go back tomorrow," he murmurs, shifting closer to Bucky. 

Bucky groans, tightening his hold on Steve. "I wish I could just stay here with you."

"Me, too," Steve murmurs, letting Bucky pull him closer. Without really thinking about it, he runs his hands up Bucky's spine, dragging the fabric along with his fingertips. "But we do need to pay rent."

Bucky hums and kisses Steve's temple. "We do," he agrees. "I should be home on time tonight at least."

"Good," Steve murmurs. "You should probably get going now." 

Bucky sighs, rolls out of bed. He rushes through getting dressed and brings Steve a mug of coffee and some toast for him to enjoy from the comfort of Bucky's bed before he leaves. "Enjoy today, okay?" he murmurs, leaning down to steal a kiss. "I love you."

Steve smiles into the kiss, pulling Buck into a second one. "I love you, too." 

Bucky grins. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Steve says, grinning as well. "Now get going, jerk." 

Bucky laughs all the way out of the apartment.

* * *

Bucky's good mood is soured the moment he gets to work, and by the time he gets home all he wants to do is grab Steve and take him somewhere very, very far away. Only the fact that he has no idea where they'd go is stopping him. He slams the door closed with an expression like thunder and doesn't even look at Steve before he storms through to their bedroom and flops face-down on his bed with a miserable groan.

Steve had watched Bucky's progress through the small apartment with a frown, and he grabs one of the chocolate chip cookies Mrs. Higgins had brought over earlier as he makes his way into the bedroom. "Hey," he says quietly, settling on the bed next to Bucky. "You okay?" 

"Fucking golden," Bucky mumbles into the pillow.

"I'm sure," Steve murmurs, prodding his shoulder carefully. "C'mon, eat a cookie. It's impossible to stay mad while eating a cookie." 

Bucky sighs like he's dying, but lifts his head and lets Steve feed him a cookie. "I'm still mad."

Steve shakes his head. "What's got you so mad even a cookie won't help?" 

Bucky just shakes his head, chewing dejectedly. "I'm not actually mad," he admits. "I just... Long day."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Bucky makes sure to swallow before he sighs, wary of spraying crumbs all over Steve. "Last night I was the happiest I've been in a long time, and today, the guys at work were all asking which dame had me smiling so much and what her name was and why she was so amazing, and I had to lie. I just-- I hate it."

Steve sighs, taking a bite of his cookie and chewing carefully before he answers. "I know," he says quietly. "It's something we are going to have to face for the rest of our lives, or at least for as long as this is illegal." 

"Is it even worth it?" Bucky asks, and hates himself for it as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Steve can't blame him for asking. "I think it is," he answers, looking at the half-eaten cookie in his hands. "We'll have each other, and we'll be careful. I think it's worth trying at least." 

"It's dangerous," Bucky says. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Steve shrugs. "That's a risk I'm willing to take." 

"We could also wind up in prison," Bucky reminds him.

Steve shrugs. "That's only if we get caught," he points out. "I still think it's worth it." 

A small smile quirks Bucky's lips. "Maybe we've come too far to let this go now."

"I'm not giving up on you - on us - just yet, Barnes," Steve says, resting a hand on Bucky's shoulder and squeezing lightly. 

"You're too stubborn for your own good," Bucky says, still smiling, "but I'm glad for it."

Steve grins. "You love me," he says confidently, leaning in for a kiss. 

Bucky meets him half way, and the kiss they share is sweeter than Mrs Higgins' cookies. "I do," he murmurs when they break apart. "I love you."

"Good," Steve says, leaning in for another kiss. "I'd be a bit embarrassed confessing all the things I thought you were worth if you didn't." 

"Sap," Bucky says affectionately.

"Yeah, but I'm your sap," Steve replies. "Scoot your butt, Barnes; I'm gonna cuddle you now." 

Bucky just laughs and shuffles up the bed a little so that he can pull Steve into his arms. "The guys at work are happy for us, by the way," he says into Steve's hair. "They think Stephanie sounds real swell."

Steve smiles a bit at that, shifting into a more comfortable position. "Well, I'm flattered," he says. "Just don't expect me to put on makeup and a dress." 

Bucky heaves a put-upon sigh. "And here was me thinkin' you'd be all for it."

Steve rolls his eyes, smacking Bucky in the chest. "I'm not that kind of guy, Buck," he says, affecting a prim look. "You need to take me out for dinner at least once before I'll consider something like that." 

"Done," Bucky says, grinning. "You'd better dress fancy, though, I know how to treat a dame right."

Steve rolls his eyes. "If you want anything more than kisses, you better damn well treat _me_ right." 

"I will, I will," Bucky promises, laughing as he kisses Steve's head. "I'll take you out tonight, if that's what you want."

"Nah, not tonight," Steve decides. "I'd rather stay in tonight. Maybe this weekend?" 

Bucky smiles, kisses Steve again. "Sure thing."

Steve squirms around until he can pull Bucky down into a proper kiss. "It's a date." 

* * *

The rest of the week passes in a blur. Bucky and Steve aren't together except when they're at home, so it's easy to keep their relationship to themselves, easy to work all day knowing they can come home to kisses and long nights spent into each other's arms. Neither of them are prepared for how hard it is once they actually venture into the outside world.

Bucky's been out with plenty of dames in his time, but he's never once hated the distance a girl keeps between them on a first date, never itched to hold her hand so bad that he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from reaching out. He feels it now, though; now that he's with someone he actually cares about, now that he can't. He aches to wrap his arm around Steve's shoulders and pull him in close the entire walk to the diner they both agreed is safe enough for two men to go to without turning heads - the fancy-ass restaurants that Bucky _wants_ to take Steve to are woefully out of the question - and once they're actually there, all he wants to do is reach across the table and take Steve's hand, lean in close and tell him how beautiful he looks and kiss him, right there for all the world to see. But he can't.

It's still nice, though, taking Steve out and spoiling him as much as they can get away with. Bucky can see his own frustration mirrored back at him in Steve's eyes, but they have a nice time, laugh together and sneakily play footsie under the table when they're sure nobody's looking. It's the biggest risk they take all night; Bucky even goes so far as to crack a joke about Steve paying him back at the end of the month when he picks up the bill, and maybe it's pushing it a little, but they can't be too safe. He herds Steve out of the diner when they're done and breathes a sigh of relief when they get outside. It feels like they just passed a huge test.

It's a nice night as they walk home, and once again Bucky wants to take Steve's hand, but it isn't as urgent as before, just a vaguely annoying buzz beneath his skin. They're chatting amiably, and Bucky's debating just how dangerous putting his arm around Steve would actually be - he did it before, didn't he? He can't actually remember - when they hear a scuffle from the nearest alleyway and slow to a stop. They peer around the corner, half-expecting a repeat of that first night, but what's happening is actually worse. A guy and his friends are crowding a girl up against the wall, a girl who clearly doesn't want to be there, and Bucky opens his mouth to call out, maybe threaten to find the police, before he realises that Steve has already left his side.

" _Hey!_ " Steve yells, drawing the men's attention, though not enough to allow the girl to escape. "What the hell do you assholes think you're doing?" 

One of the men throws his head back and laughs. "What the fuck is it to you, pipsqueak?"

"Nothing much, except a call to the police," Steve snaps. "Leave the girl alone." 

"Maybe she doesn't want to be left alone," a second guy says, leaning closer to the girl, who cringes away from him.

"All right," Bucky snaps, coming up behind Steve. "That's enough now. Let her go, or I'll come over there and take you off her."

The first guy laughs again. "Just walk away, okay ladies? Before someone gets hurt."

"Oh, we won't be the only ones getting hurt," Steve snarls, and lunges. He has no illusions about him and Bucky actually winning, but if they can give the girl enough of a distraction to be able to run, he'll consider the ass-kicking worth it. Steve can't really fight, but he can scrap; he can bite and kick and shove, and that's enough for his purposes tonight. 

Bucky spares only enough time to curse before he's following Steve, and yeah, they've definitely bitten off more than they can chew here. They're up against three burly guys, and for all that Steve means well, he doesn't stand a chance. _Bucky_ doesn't stand a chance, but they manage to hold their own long enough for the girl to get away, and he's sure that's all Steve wanted. Steve goes down first, hard, and Bucky gets his second wind when he sees Steve slide down the wall, manages to stay upright long enough to knock the smaller of the three out cold before he, too, is thrown to the ground. With Bucky out of the way, the other two guys return their attention to Steve, and Bucky struggles up to his knees, his head ringing, when a commotion at the mouth of the alley makes them all jump.

"All right, I've called the cops," an angry-looking barman shouts. "I suggest you get the fuck out of here if you don't wanna spend the night in jail."

The other two guys clear out pretty quick after that, leaving their unconscious friend behind, and Bucky knee-walks to Steve's side, gets his hands on him without a single thought for the crowd that may or may not be gathered behind the barman. "You okay?" he rasps, urgent. "How bad is it?"

Steve's wheezing a bit as he answers, "Bruised ribs - and everything else, too. Least the girl got away, huh?" 

"You're gonna get yourself killed one of these days," Bucky grouses, pushing himself to his feet so that he can hold a hand out to Steve. "And me along with you."

Steve laughs weakly as he accepts Bucky's hand, using it to pull himself to his feet. "Nah, our luck's too good," he says. "God, I need some ice." 

"Let's get you home, then," Bucky says, slinging an arm around Steve's waist. "Unless you feel like you need a hospital?"

Steve stretches gingerly, carefully poking around his abdomen. "I think just home," he says. "Doesn't feel like anything's broken." 

"I said _leave_!" the barman shouts, and Bucky turns to shoot him a weak glare.

"We're goin', pal, don't worry."

Steve waves at the bartender, who just glares and _humphs_ before slamming his door shut. "Jeez," Steve mumbles, leaning into Bucky; it's not the way he wanted to do it, beaten and bruised and bloody, but he'll take it. "Let's just get home, yeah?" 

* * *

So they go home, and Bucky cleans them both up as best he can, cursing to himself the whole time. "You gotta start using your head for something other than a punching bag," he tells Steve as he finally sets the washcloth down, satisfied that the cut on the side of Steve's head has stopped bleeding. "We're lucky we were able to actually walk away from this one."

"Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do?" Steve demands. "They were going to rape her, Buck!" 

"And you saw how fast that barman got them all to scram," Bucky says. "We could've gone for help, instead of running head-first into their fists."

"And how long would that have taken?" Steve asks mulishly. "How badly would they have hurt her by the time help came around?" 

"Why is it better that they hurt you?" Bucky asks, because he doesn't have an answer.

Steve shrugs. "It's not," he says. "But at least I made the choice to get hurt." 

Bucky just shakes his head, steps back from Steve so he can grab their first aid stuff and open the bathroom door. "Perfect end to the perfect night, huh?" he sighs, and heads back into the apartment.

Steve follows, quiet and a bit unsure. This isn't the first time Steve's gotten them into a fight, but something seems more vulnerable now about Bucky's demeanor. Steve doesn't speak right away as he shuts the apartment door behind him, locking it out of habit. He doesn't speak as he gets them both a glass of water, but he does when he offers one to Bucky. "I enjoyed dinner," he says softly, still unsure about how to handle Bucky after a fight now that they're together. "And I am a little sorry for getting us into a fight." 

Bucky nods, takes a sip of his water and then winces when it stings the split in his lip. "It's fine," he says. "I'm used to it by now."

"Just because you're used to something doesn't mean it can't hurt," Steve says, fiddling with his own glass. 

Bucky hesitates, but eventually he nods. "I hate it," he admits softly. "Seeing you like this. But I know who you are, Steve."

The corner of his mouth lifts up in a slight smile. "How about this: I promise to try to think more before jumping into fights?" 

Bucky smiles back. "I'll take it," he says.

Steve's smile turns into a grin. "So, we're good? Except for the bruises and blood." 

"We're good," Bucky says. He sets his glass down so that he can pull Steve to him, wrap him up in his arms in an embrace as tight as he dares to make it. "I love you. And I did have a good time tonight."

"Same here," Steve says. "About everything." He pulls back only enough to reach up and tug Bucky into a gentle kiss, mindful of the splits in their lips. 

* * *

They have another half a week of bliss before everything goes to shit again. Despite them both doing everything they can to keep Steve warm and dry and healthy, he gets sick, and then he gets worse. Bucky goes to work for the first few days, leaving him in the capable hands of Mrs Higgins, but when it becomes clear that Steve isn't going to get better anytime soon, he opts to stay home to look after him himself. His boss understands, he's done it before, but then Bucky gets sick himself, and Steve gets sick again trying to look after Bucky. All in all they're both off work for three weeks, and that by itself is not a tragedy - there are plenty of people to pick up the slack down at the docks, and Steve's boss is an absolute sweetheart who knew his mother and would let him get away with murder if it came down to it - but what happens the day Bucky goes back to work may just spell disaster for them both.

"The hell are you doing here?" Derek Burke demands. "Thought you'd skipped town, Barnes." 

"Had shit to do, Burke," Bucky answers with ease. "But I'm back now to make sure you haven't been sleeping on the job while I was away."

"And let me guess, this 'shit' has a name," Burke sneers. "Is it similar to your roommate's? What was his name... Steven?" 

Bucky stops, turns to stare at Burke. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"My _problem_ ," Burke snarls, getting up in Bucky's face, "is the fact that we've had to pick up your slack for _weeks_ because you've been too fucking busy playing nursemaid to a goddamn shrimp who isn't long for this world anyway." 

"Back off, pal," Bucky snarls, shoving Burke away from him. "I'll make up for it now that I'm back, all right? So shut your mouth."

"And what happens when _Stephanie_ gets sick again?"

Bucky's eyes narrow. "What are you trying to say?"

"I think you know damn well what I'm saying, Barnes," Burke growls, voice low. "You're not nearly as sneaky as you like to think." 

"What did I just say?" Bucky snarls. " _Shut_ your mouth, asshole."

"Why don't you come make me?"

"I'm not gonna fucking fight you, Burke, you think I'm stupid? Just let me do my job."

"Like you've been doing for the past few weeks? The fuck'd you even bother coming in for them?"

Bucky growls, fists his hands in Burke's shirt so he can drag him in close and snarl in his face. "Fuck you."

"I've already got someone for that," Burke retorts. "And from what I've heard, you've got _Stephanie_ for yourself."

Bucky sees red, and this time he doesn't think twice: he just headbutts Burke in the face.

The next thing he knows, he's stood outside his supervisor's office, bleeding from the lip that only finished healing a week ago, and Burke is coming out with a disgustingly smug look on his face. Bucky shoulders past him and into the office without waiting for an invitation, determined to get his side of the story out before whatever poison Burke spilled takes effect. "Sir--"

"Don't," Supervisor Martin says, holding up a hand. "Just - I understand that you were provoked, Barnes, but you have also been missing a lot of work. I can't, in good conscience, just let this slide."

Bucky sighs, nods. "I understand," he says. "Unpaid overtime?"

Martin shakes his head. "You've racked up more sick days than anyone else on the dock," he says. "I understand your situation, and normally I would just make you work more without more pay for a couple of weeks to make up for it, but you have now attacked a coworker and there are rumors going around. Rumors that I can't just ignore."

Bucky grits his teeth. "Rumours about what?"

Martin meets his gaze evenly. "You know what. I'm not going to call the police, but with everything that's happened, I'm afraid that I have no choice. The official reason for letting you go will be your overabundance of missed days and instigating a fight with a coworker, and that will be the reason I give anyone who asks, but that's all I can do."

Bucky goes pale. "Sir," he says. " _Please_. I need this job."

"I know," Martin says wearily. "But so do a lot of other men. I can't, in good conscience, keep you on after this, James. I'm sorry, but my hands are tied here."

And Bucky hates it, but he knows that he's already being given way more than he has any right to ask for. "I understand," he says again, a little stiffly. "Thank you, sir."

Martin nods. "I wish I could do more, son. But with the war and everything... Good luck."

"Thanks," Bucky repeats. He's going to need it.

* * *

For the first time since they moved in together, Bucky is waiting for Steve when he gets home from work. He's sitting on the couch in his vest and pants, a rare beer cradled between his legs, and he doesn't even look up when Steve shuts the door behind him. He just sighs, and raises the beer to his lips.

Steve hesitates just inside the door; Bucky's home early, and he's drinking at - Steve glances at the clock - 7:30 at night. Not terribly early, but still a bit concerning. "Hey," he says, divesting himself of his coat and shoes. "Everything okay?"

"Not really," Bucky says, but he does look up, sets the beer on the coffee table and pats the seat next to him. "Come here. We've got some stuff to talk about."

Well, that's reassuring. "What kind of stuff?" Steve asks cautiously as he sits.

"I lost my job," Bucky says, because he doesn't see any point in putting it off.

"Shit," Steve breathes. "How? Why?" 

"Got into a fight with one of the guys. Supervisor was willing to let it go, but when he added it up with all the time I've had on the sick lately, and..."

"And what?" Steve asks, heart all but seizing up in his chest. 

"And us," Bucky admits, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Some of the guys caught on. Or maybe they didn't, but either way, there are rumours going 'round about me, and Martin couldn't keep me on."

"Shit," Steve curses. "Is he going to - " 

"No," Bucky says quickly. "That was one of the conditions of me leaving immediately."

"Oh," Steve says, confused. "So, did he know, or was it just the rumors?"

Bucky shakes his head. "I don't know," he says. "I didn't stick around long enough to ask."

"Okay," Steve says, blowing out a breath. "Well, I guess that means you'll just need to find another job, then - we can't make rent on my pay alone."

"That's not all it means, Steve."

Steve frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not in a protected profession anymore," Bucky says. "I have to register for the draft."

Steve goes pale. "I hadn't - You're right. I don't suppose you could file for conscientious objector status?"

Bucky manages a smile. "I'd stand about as much chance as you signing up," he says, not unkindly. "I don't have a strong enough religious backgrounds, and I get into too many fights to ever convince them I'm a pacifist."

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. "You're right," he says quietly. "Damn it."

"Hey," Bucky murmurs, putting a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I'll be at the bottom of the list, and the war might be over before they call me up."

"But what if it isn't?" Steve asks. "What if you do get called up?"

"Then we'll deal," Bucky promises. "I'll come home to you."

Steve almost chokes on a laugh. "You can't promise that."

Bucky sighs, pulls Steve into his arms. "We don't have to think about this now," he says. "It might not even come to that."

Steve goes willingly, wrapping his arms around Bucky's middle. "I hope not," he mutters. "But now it'll be a chance." 

"Whatever happens, it'll be okay," Bucky swears. "I'm not giving you up without a fight, Rogers."

"I'm not giving you up, either," Steve mumbles into Bucky's shoulder. "But I guess we won't have much choice if it comes down to it, will we?" 

"Don't think about it," Bucky soothes, stroking Steve's hair. "Not tonight."

"Okay," Steve says without looking up. "Not tonight. You hungry?" 

Bucky shakes his head. "Only if you are."

"I'm a little hungry," Steve admits. "Didn't have much time for dinner." 

"Then I'll see what I can whip up," Bucky says, pulling back from Steve so he can stand. "Any requests?"

"I'm not picky," Steve says, stretching before he follows Bucky into the kitchen. "What've we got?" 

"Uhh, soup," is Bucky's answer. "And more soup." He turns to Steve with a sheepish look. "I'll do a grocery run tomorrow."

Steve smiles. "That's fine. Maybe the grocer will be hiring? Might need someone to help unload trucks." 

"Good idea," Bucky says, smiling even as he turns to scrutinise Steve. He looks exhausted, paler than usual. "Why don't you go grab a blanket, get off your feet? I'll bring this through."

Steve gives Bucky a grateful smile. "Thank you," he says, moving forward to give Bucky a quick kiss to the cheek. 

So Bucky makes soup. He gives more than half to Steve, puts the bowl on a plate before he carries it through to the sitting room so that Steve can eat it in comfort without burning his legs and then joins him with his own bowl. They eat in relative silence, and when they're done Bucky leaves their things in the sink and shepherds Steve into bed. "It's gonna be okay, y'know," he murmurs as he curls himself around Steve. "Whatever happens."

Steve sighs, letting Bucky arrange him however he wants. "I hope so," he mutters. "I really hope this war is as short as those people keep predicting." 

"Me too," Bucky says, presses a kiss to the back of Steve's neck. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Steve answers, smiling a bit despite himself. "Whatever happens, that won't change."

Bucky huffs a soft laugh. "I know," he promises. "It won't for me, either."

"Good," Steve says fiercely. "Long as we have each other, we can make it through anything."

Bucky hums his agreement, lets his eyes fall closed. "I love you," he sighs again.

"Love you, too, Buck," Steve murmurs, letting himself relax into the bed and against Bucky. "Now let's go to sleep." 

* * *

As it turns out, the grocer is looking for someone to unload the trucks, and he takes Bucky on the very next morning. Apparently the kid who used to do it just got called up, but Bucky makes sure to leave that detail out when Steve comes home that night. The money isn't great, but it's enough to make the rent when added to Steve's wages with a little left over, and they have to tighten their belts a bit, but they manage.

The day after Bucky registers for the draft is a Sunday, and neither of them get out of bed all day. By Monday, though, everything returns to normal, and they put it out of their minds as best they can and try to get on with their lives. For the most part, it works. They both get a little tense each time they check the mail, but with every day that passes it gets a little easier to relax, to grow confident that it isn't going to happen, not to them.

It's getting well into April now, the peace of mind that the slightly warmer weather of March brought with it giving way to mild concern as hay fever starts to wreak havoc with Steve's chest, but so far that's only on the bad days and they can still enjoy the springtime without fear of major complications. Bucky's new job means that he gets home from work before Steve most days, and he enjoys the simple domesticity of having a meal ready for him when he walks through the door, relishes the small, pleased smile that it always brings to his lips. They've both gotten quite used to easy displays of affection in the safety of their own home; Bucky greets Steve with a kiss more often than not and they've pushed their beds together in the bedroom so that they can curl around each other in comfort every night - but that's about as far as it goes. Bucky isn't sure if it's because neither of them have the time or the energy - they're both working as much as they can in an attempt to build up their savings - or if it's because they're just taking things slow, but either way is fine. Maybe Steve doesn't want to take it any further, and that's fine, too. But for all that he's not really questioning it, he gets his answer one warm Saturday night after dinner.

"Hey Steve," Bucky calls through from the bedroom, where he's already fiddling with his hair. "I was thinking of going out tonight - you wanna join?"

Steve doesn't answer for a moment; when he does, it's a question: "Depends; is it a special occasion?" Bucky hasn't really gone out much since they got together; drinks with his co-workers now and then, and a time or two on a date with a girl who wasn't terribly interested to begin with. Steve's gone out even less - not that he ever went out much in the first place. 

"Not really," Bucky says. "Just feel like it, is all."

"Oh. Well, I don't know," Steve says slowly, as though he's thinking. "Where are you thinking of going?" 

"Just to a bar or two," Bucky calls back. He opens the bedroom door so he can lean against the frame and give Steve a wink. "Maybe _the_ bar."

Steve rolls his eyes, but his smile betrays his fondness. "Well..." He has to admit, the prospect of being able to dance with Bucky and be a little more open about who they are to each other is very tempting. "Maybe I'll come." 

Bucky looks surprised, but he brightens up remarkably. "Great," he says, already reaching for Steve. "Now come here and help me with my hair."

Steve laughs, putting his book aside to go assist Bucky. "What would do without me?"

"Look like a homeless person," Bucky says solemnly, with a pout. "I'd be a sorry excuse for a human being."

"And you're not already?" Steve teases. 

"Asshole," Bucky complains, but he's grinning.

"You love me," Steve says confidently. "Now shut up and don't move." 

* * *

An hour later Bucky is pulling Steve into the bar by the hand, unable to fight the grin on his face at how _right_ it feels to take him right up to the bar and wrap an arm around his waist while they order. The bartender gives them an indulgent smile when he sees them, but that's the only reaction they get as they grab a table with their drinks and sit with their knees pressed together and their fingers entwined. "I should've brought you here earlier," Bucky says, when he sees the light that the freedom of this place is bringing to Steve's eyes. "It's somethin' else, ain't it?"

"It really is," Steve agrees; his smile is a bit shy, and he's still a little nervous about being so open in his affection for Bucky outside of their apartment. "This is where you kept going for... company?" 

Bucky hides his discomfort in his glass. "Yeah," he says. "That's okay, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, as - "

"John? Is that you?" 

Bucky doesn't even look up at first, but when the speaker steps up to their table, the bottom drops out of his stomach. "Daniel," he says tightly. "Hey."

"Hey," Tim says with a grin. "It's been a while since I've seen you around here; finally get lonely again?" 

"Uh, no," Bucky says, with a pointed look at Steve. "I have company tonight."

Tim looks at Steve as well, who gives the newcomer a nod. "Chris," he offers, though he doesn't offer his hand. 

Tim makes a considering noise. "Looks like more than the setup for a fuck in an alley," he observes, turning back to Bucky with a raised eyebrow. 

Bucky manages a tight smile. "That's 'cause it is," he says.

"Oh really?" Tim asks, interested. "This the guy you were pining over the first time you came here?" 

"The very same." Bucky's smile warms into something more genuine as he looks at Steve. "Turns out he wasn't as unattainable as I thought."

"Huh," Tim says, eyeing Steve, who tries not to bristle under the scrutiny. "Well, he seems like a catch. But if things don't work out, you know where to find me." With that and a sloppy salute, he heads off to another part of the bar. 

"I feel insulted," Steve says after a moment. 

"Ignore him," Bucky says. "He doesn't think queers are the courting kind."

That gets Steve to look at Bucky curiously. "And what do you think?" 

Bucky laughs. "I'm here with you, aren't I?"

Steve chuckles. "Good point," he says. "Guess we're the courting kind at least." 

But Bucky looks unsure. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

Steve blinks. "What?" 

"Bringing you here," Bucky clarifies. "We haven't been here five minutes and some guy I used to fuck has already come up to us."

Steve shakes his head. "It's fine," he says. "I know what you did before we got together, but we are together now, so I'm not worried." 

Bucky's smile returns in full force, and he squeezes Steve's hand. "You're too good for me, Rogers."

"Of course I am," Steve says lightly. "But I think you're pretty darn good, too." 

Bucky laughs, and reaches for his drink.

* * *

It's quite late when they get home, but neither of them are more than tipsy. Bucky always watches the amount they drink when they're out together, because alcohol hits Steve a lot faster than it hits him, and honestly once they had some liquid courage they both got a little distracted by the fact that they didn't have to hide their relationship at the bar. Still, they're giggling to each other as they head up to the apartment, and once they're safe behind closed doors once more Bucky doesn't hesitate to reach out for Steve, pull him into his arms so that they can kiss. "God," he breathes when they break apart. "You're so fuckin' gorgeous, Steve."

The alcohol brings a ready blush to Steve's face, and he ducks his head bashfully. "You really think so?" 

"'Course," Bucky murmurs, gently chucking Steve under the chin so he can tilt his face back up. "You're stunning."

Steve blushes even harder, and a combination of embarrassment and alcohol makes him blurt, "I want to have sex. With you." 

Of all the things Bucky was expecting to come out of Steve's mouth, this isn't one of them. "I'm sorry, what?"

Steve can't go any redder, but his face sure is trying. "I want to have sex with you," he repeats, mindful of how close they're still standing to the door. 

Like he's reading Steve's mind, Bucky's arms tighten protectively around him and he pulls him further into the room until they can sit side by side on the couch. "Are you sure?" he asks quietly.

"Yes," Steve says. "I've thought about it a lot, and - I want to. Some things." 

"Yeah?" Bucky asks. "What kind of things?"

"I just - I wanna touch you more," Steve mumbles, even the Dutch courage leaving him now. "And I want you to touch me more." 

Bucky smiles, reaching out to catch Steve's wrist and stroke his fingers gently over his pulse point. It's intimate, as is the look Bucky's giving him. "I want that too," he admits.

Steve swallows when he sees the expression on Bucky's face. "I don't - I don't have any idea of how it's supposed to work between two men, but I want to learn." 

"We'll take it slow," Bucky promises. "As slow as you need."

Steve smiles; it's soft and shy, but there nonetheless. "Okay; sounds like a plan," he says, leaning in for a kiss.

* * *

They're up until dawn 'taking it slow', exploring each other's bodies and learning what makes them gasp and moan and writhe, and by the time they fall asleep Steve has received his first blow job and given his first hand job. Bucky's made it with his fair share of guys before, but it's never been like this, and that isn't just because this is his first time in a bed. He pulls Steve close after, wraps him up in his arms and keeps him there while they sleep the day away, the satisfaction deep in his bones thanks to more than just an orgasm. He never wants to be anywhere else for the rest of his life.

It's past noon when they wake up together, sharing sleepy smiles and tender kisses, and when they finally pull apart and Bucky checks the clock, he starts to laugh. "I think we missed church."

Steve frowns slightly, confused, until he catches sight of the clock. He groans, burying his face in Bucky's chest. "Oh, crap. What are the chances your mom will let us missing without warning slide?" 

Bucky laughs again and buries his fingers in Steve's hair. "It'll be fine," he says. "We've missed before, when you've been sick or I've been hungover. The most we'll get is a slap on the wrist."

Steve grins. "You're right," he says. "But still; I hate disappointing your mom. She has one hell of a set of doe eyes when she's disappointed." 

"I'd rather disappoint her than you," Bucky says lightly, teasing. "You weren't disappointed last night, were you?"

Steve shakes his head. "Not at all," he says, his grin turning into a pleased smile. 

Bucky chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of Steve's head. "I'm glad."

Steve hums sleepily. "Can't wait to get my hands on you again," he mumbles. 

"Well, who says you have to wait?"

Steve blinks. "But it's the middle of the day," he points out, confused. 

Bucky slides his hand down Steve's side until he can give his ass a squeeze. "So?"

"So," Steve says, breath hitching. "It's broad daylight. Even normal couples don't - do that in broad daylight." 

Bucky pulls his hand back with a sigh, and moves himself out from under Steve. "Normal couples," he says flatly. "Right."

It takes Steve's brain a moment to realize what Bucky's talking about. "Oh - No, Buck, that's not what I meant," he says, desperately trying to explain himself. "I just meant, couples that are a guy and a gal, and don't, don't have to worry so much about getting caught, I didn't mean that we weren't normal, or that there's something wrong with us - " 

"If a guy and a gal are normal, then that's exactly what you meant," Bucky says, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to Steve. "But it's okay, I get it. It's hard to face up to what you are in the light of day."

"What, no, Bucky - " Steve sits up as well, reaching for Bucky, but for the first time in their acquaintance, he hesitates before touching the other man. He knows he's said something wrong, even though he's not quite sure what, but he wants to make it right. He draws his hand back until he can clasp both in his lap and stare at them while he speaks. "I know what I am, or at least - I know what I'm not. I'm not ashamed of this, of _us_ , Bucky." 

Bucky sighs, his head bowed. "I get it, Steve," he says again. "I've had a lot more practice at this than you. And y'know, I've never made it with anyone in the daytime, either. I just always thought that was the difference - not having to hide it in dirty alleys or the back rooms of some underground queer bar."

"That's the thing, though," Steve says quietly, scooting closer. "You've been doing this - or at least the sex part - longer than I have. Hell, you've been doing _everything_ longer than I have. I want you, Buck, and I want to do that, but I'm still afraid we'll get caught if we don't be careful. And it's a lot easier to get caught in the day than in the night." 

"I know," Bucky murmurs, turning his head to catch Steve's lips in a soft kiss. "But if we're not safe here, in our own bedroom on the third floor with the curtains drawn, then we're not safe anywhere." His words are sad, and he gets out of bed without another.

Steve falls back against the bed with a pained groan; dammit, he's really stuck his foot in it now. 

* * *

Steve leaves Bucky be for most of the afternoon; shortly before dinner, he finally approaches Bucky on the couch. "Hey," he says quietly. "I'm gonna make stew for dinner; beef okay?" 

Bucky looks up with a gentle smile, nods. "Sounds good to me."

Steve nods, and gets the stew started; he chose it for a reason, that it doesn't really need to be watched carefully. Once everything's set, he returns to the living room, carefully situating himself beside Bucky. "I wanted to apologize," he says. "For hurting you earlier." 

Bucky shakes his head. "You don't have to apologise," he says. "I understand that you're scared."

"I know," Steve says with a slight smile, "but I still hurt you; I do need to apologize for that." 

Bucky smiles back, reaches out to take Steve's hand. "It just pisses me off that we even have to hide," he confesses. "The way I feel about you, that can't be wrong, can it?"

Steve gives his hand over easily. "No, it can't," he agrees. "And we know that, and so do others like us, but most of the world doesn't seem to know that yet." 

"I meant what I said," Bucky tells him. "I want us both to feel safe in our own home, at least. So, whatever it takes to get you there, it's worth it."

"Thanks," Steve says, giving Bucky's hand a squeeze. "I appreciate it. I still want to do things besides kissing, just - for now, not during the day."

"That's okay," Bucky promises. "Anything for you."

Steve smiles. "Thank you," he says sincerely. "For understanding." 

Bucky kisses Steve's knuckles, gives him a tender smile. "Always," he murmurs.

* * *

The rest of the year passes in much the same vein. They have their ups and downs; they make rent every month but sometimes struggle to feed themselves; Steve gets sick and then he gets well again. They finally make love in the middle of June, a light summer rain keeping the pollen count down so that Steve doesn't struggle for breath when he comes inside Bucky for the first time. Even so, most extracurricular activities have to be put on hold once winter sets in again and Steve gets his first bout of the flu, but for all Steve's protests Bucky refuses to separate their beds and sticks by him until he's on the mend again. It doesn't matter that they'd be lynched if anyone else found out: they're young and in love and they're happy.

The war is still raging all over the world, of course, but it's easy to forget that when they have no part to play in it. It's been over six months since Bucky registered for the draft, and they've both silently decided that since he hasn't been called up yet, he won't be at all. The war will be over soon, and there are better men than Bucky out there to be called up in the meantime- at least, that's what they tell themselves. But then Pearl Harbour is hit in early December, and everything changes.

The letter comes for Bucky two weeks before Christmas.

Steve had disappeared into the bedroom to change into some more comfortable clothes, and when he comes back into the living room, it takes him a moment to pin Bucky's location: The brunette is on the floor by the door, staring at something in his hands. "Buck?" Steve asks cautiously. "Everything okay?" 

Bucky shakes his head, feeling numb, and crumples the letter in his hand. "Steve, you gotta... you gotta sit down, okay?"

Steve complies. "You're really starting to worry me, Buck," he says. "What's going on? Is that - " 

"Yeah," Bucky says hoarsely. "I've been drafted."

Steve's glad he's sitting. "Really?" he asks, voice wrecked. "There's no mistake, it's not - it's not at the wrong address?" 

"It's got my name on it, Steve, you wanna look?"

Steve shakes his head. "No, I don't," he says, scooting closer. "Fuck, I can't believe this. We always thought..." 

"I know," Bucky says. "I guess we were just really fuckin' stupid."

Steve moves until he's sitting next to Bucky, wrapping his arms around his partner without a word; what can he say? They were stupid, fooling themselves into thinking that the war would never come for them. "When do you leave for basic?" 

"A week," Bucky says. "God, I'm gonna miss Christmas..."

"We'll celebrate early," Steve says, voice muffled from where his face in buried in Bucky's shoulder. 

Bucky drops the letter so he can tangle his fingers in Steve's hair, his eyes screwed tight shut. "Fuck."

"I know," Steve murmurs, tightening his arms around Bucky's middle. "I know." 

* * *

Steve talks to Bucky's family the next day, and between them they organise a Christmas celebration the day before Bucky's due to leave. It's a strained affair, none of them quite able to shake the dark cloud of Bucky's imminent departure looming over their heads, but it's nice and Bucky appreciates the effort all the same. Afterwards he takes Steve home and keeps him up until the small hours, neither of them quite willing to fall asleep for fear of what the morning will bring.

They fuck until they can't anymore, and afterwards Bucky pulls Steve into his arms and holds him close, tries to memorise exactly how this feels. "I'm gonna do everything I can to come back to you, y'know," he murmurs, because he knows Steve is worried and it's all he can offer. "If you don't mind the waitin'."

"I don't mind the waiting," Steve answers. "It's the leaving in the first place that bothers me." 

"You and me both," Bucky agrees. He hesitates for a moment, and then says, "My ma said there's a bed for you if you find that the money I'm sending back isn't enough."

"Buck, no - I can't impose on your ma like that," Steve protests. 

"We'd both rather you impose than freeze to death on the streets, or work yourself into the ground trying to make rent," Bucky insists. "And it wouldn't be imposing anyway; Ma loves you."

"She's already got herself and Becca to worry about," Steve argues. 

"She had me to worry about too for the first twenty years of my life," Bucky says. "She can handle it, believe me. I won't know how much I'm gonna be able to give you until I get out there."

"I still don't want to impose," Steve says. "Your family's already done so much for me." 

"Dammit, Steve!" Bucky snaps, and instantly regrets it. He sighs, gentles his tone. "I'm not gonna be here to look out for you anymore; I just wanna make sure you're okay."

"I know, and I appreciate it," Steve says before he sighs as well. " _If_ it gets that bad, I'll talk to your mom, okay?" 

"Thank you," Bucky says, with feeling. "Fuck, it'd be so much easier if one of us was a dame."

Steve frowns, pulling back enough so he can meet Bucky's eyes. "What do you mean?" 

Bucky gives him a soft smile, searches his face. "If I could, I'd marry you right now," he confesses.

Steve flushes. "You would?" 

"In a heartbeat," Bucky vows. "It'd mean I was really yours, y'know? And it'd mean you'd get everything if I was killed in action."

"Don't talk like that," Steve says sharply. He takes a deep breath, then tries again, "I appreciate that, Buck - but you're coming back." 

"I'm gonna do my best," Bucky agrees, nodding. "Doesn't mean I don't wanna marry you, though."

Steve smiles despite himself. "Well, if we could - I'd marry you." 

Bucky grins, pulls Steve in for a sweet kiss. "I love you," he murmurs.

"I love you, too," Steve says, returning the kiss readily. "And if it ever becomes legal, I'll marry you." 

* * *

Of course, history records how their lives proceed for the next seven decades: Steve becomes Captain America, rescues his childhood best friend from the clutches of Hydra, and then loses that 'best friend' to unfortunate circumstance, and then sacrifices his own life to stop the Red Skull, vanishing into the ice of the Arctic Circle for decades, only to be revealed through pure luck by the shifting ice. He's roped into becoming an Avenger barely a week after he wakes up, and after saving the world from _aliens_ , of all things, he joins SHIELD's STRIKE force, saving the world on a smaller basis every other week.

Unable to stand the memories of New York, Steve moves to D.C. six months after the Loki incident; there, he takes up jogging, and two years after he wakes up in a whole new century, he meets Sam Wilson, his first non-superhero friend, and the first person to whom he confesses the true nature of his relationship with Bucky. Sam's sympathetic when Steve has a minor breakdown not even two days after officially meeting him over the fact that he woke up - alone - in a new century, in a time when he could have married Bucky, if they'd both lived to see it.

Then Fury is assassinated, and Steve gets his first look at the Winter Soldier, shortly before he and Natasha are forced to go on the run. The things they discover while on the lam rock Steve's world, but what almost destroys him is the revelation, after returning to D.C. and being attacked on the freeway, that Bucky survived the fall, and was captured by Hydra. Worse still, the other man doesn't remember him, seemingly doesn't remember anything, and has been molded into the most feared assassin in the world.

Steve takes the last helicarrier, wearing his less-durable suit in an effort to shake loose some of Bucky's memories; it almost doesn't work, not until Steve loses his helmet and throws Bucky's own words of nearly eight decades ago back in his face. It's enough to get the brunette to pause, expression confused and then horrified, but Steve's rapidly losing his grip on the waking world, and the last thing he registers is hitting the waters of the Potomac.

He wakes in a hospital, Sam by his bedside; when he's released, he and Sam go to the local cemetery for one last conversation with Fury before they start their search for Bucky. In the end, however, it's as simple as going back to where Bucky's ma and sister lived before the war. The apartment building is abandoned now, but Steve finds Bucky in the apartment they spent their last Christmas in, celebrating with Bucky's - _their_ \- family and trying to forget that Bucky was leaving for basic in the next few days.

Stark gives them a floor in the remodeled and renamed Tower; all of the Avengers have a floor, and they've all taken Stark up on his offer after SHIELD collapsed. It's rough for the first few months; Bucky regains his memories incrementally most days, but some nights... Some nights the memories flood back, of everyone he's harmed or killed in the past seventy years.

It's after one sleepless night that Steve comes back from the bathroom to find Bucky standing next to his dresser, a book - Steve's sketchbook, the blond realizes with a jolt - in his hand. It's open, but Steve can't see what picture the other man's looking at from their current angle. "Buck?" Steve asks cautiously, unable to read the expression on the other man's face. "You all right?"

For a long moment Bucky doesn't speak, doesn't so much as tear his gaze away from the drawing he's holding. It's a close-up of him and Steve, their faces almost touching, Bucky's eyes closed and his lips parted in anticipation of what can only be a kiss, a flush high on Steve's cheeks. "I'm sorry," Bucky says at last, faintly, though he still doesn't look up. "I shouldn't have..."

Steve shakes his head. "No, it's - It's fine," he says, voice a bit strangled. "I left it out; should have put it away." 

"You left it out once before," Bucky says slowly, tracing his finger along the page, following the line of Steve's jaw. "Didn't you?"

Steve's breath catches in his chest, but he manages a nod and a whispered, "Yes." 

Bucky does look up then, turns to face Steve with an unreadable expression. "We were in love," he says softly, and it isn't a question.

Steve's eyes itch, but he doesn't look away from Bucky, just nods. "We were," he says, voice just as quiet. "I loved you so damn much it almost killed me when you fell, before I ever got a chance to fly that plane into the ocean." 

Bucky nods too, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he glances down at the sketchbook and then back up to Steve. "This is recent, though," he says, and he sounds nervous now. "Are we-- Do you still..?"

Steve laughs, but it's dry. "I don't know how to stop loving you," he confesses. "I didn't say anything because I don't know how much you remember, if you'd even _want_ \- " 

"I do," Bucky says quickly. "I want. I-- Not everything is back yet, but I felt something when you said my name on that bridge, have felt something ever since. I begged them to tell me who you were, what we were to each other, and they--" He shudders, swallows hard, finishes in a whisper. "But everything makes sense now."

Steve takes a chance, moving forward until he can take the sketchbook from Bucky's hand, laying it on the dresser, and replace it with his own hand. "I'm here," he says. "That's not going to change ever again if I have anything to say about it." 

Bucky squeezes instinctively, but he looks unsure. "You can't say that," he says. "The things I've done--"

"While you were _brainwashed_ and not in control of your own body," Steve reminds him. "I'm still staying." 

Bucky lets out a shaky breath, searches Steve's face for any sign of doubt or uncertainty, but he finds none. "Steve," he breathes, sounding small and vulnerable. "Steve."

Steve pulls Bucky closer until he can wrap his arms around the other man, hugging him tightly. "I'm here," he says, quiet but no less reassuring. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere." 

And Bucky lets himself deflate, lets himself melt into Steve's hold like he never wants to be anywhere else. "It's been too long, pal," he rasps. "I love you."

"Me, too," Steve murmurs. "I love you, too." 

* * *

It takes another three months for the majority of Bucky's memories to return. He's still missing little things, minute details that sometimes mean nothing and other times mean everything, but all of the big stuff is back. All the terrible things he did as the Soldier, and he's going to be in therapy for years if not the rest of his life, but also things like his sister's name, his mom's birthday, all his time with Steve.

He's in bed right now, naked except for the sheets pooled around his waist, basking in the sunlight like a cat while Steve is in the shower. There are still days when Steve has to run off and save the world, there are even days when Bucky helps, but for the most part they're left to their own devices, and it's great. Everything that's happened since Steve found him has been better than Bucky has ever dared hope for - but he's thinking that maybe he could push for a little bit more.

"Hey," he says softly when Steve comes back in, already reaching for him. "C'mere."

Steve smiles, crawling back onto the bed, heedless of his still-wet hair. "Hey," he returns, leaning in for a kiss and still marveling at the fact that he gets to have this - have _Bucky_ \- again. "Something on your mind?" 

"Yeah," Bucky says, stealing a second kiss. "I was just thinking. I made you a promise once."

"You made me a lot of promises," Steve says thoughtfully. "Which one are you thinking about now?" 

"The one where I said I'd marry you if I could," Bucky answers.

Steve goes still. "You remember that?" 

Bucky nods, smiles. "I couldn't exactly make good on it back then," he says. "But I can now."

It takes Steve a second to catch up with Bucky's train of thought, but when he does, his eyes widen. "You - You still want to?" 

A flicker of uncertainty passes across Bucky's face. "Well," he says, "I'm not suggesting we go out and get hitched tomorrow. I know it's still early days, I'm just sayin', y'know, it's an option if, later on, we--"

Steve cuts him off with a kiss. "If you want to get married, then we'll get married," he says, grinning so widely his cheeks ache. "I mean, we've already been waiting seventy years." 

Bucky laughs softly, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Yeah," he says. "I guess we have."

"Maybe not tomorrow, but sometime soon?" Steve asks, hopeful. 

Bucky grins. "Just pick a date, I'll be there."


End file.
